


the circus is in town

by chaosmanor



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 1940s fuckbois, Amnesia, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Returns, Canon typical Winter Soldier torture scene, M/M, Mention of Jewish Bucky Barnes, Not Canon Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Past Bucky Barnes/Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Semi-Public Sex, Timeline What Timeline, accidental intimate partner harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21788281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosmanor/pseuds/chaosmanor
Summary: “Let’s watch it again. It’s ten seconds of two muscle mountains destroying furniture, then twenty seconds of sweaty foreplay while they hump on the floor. This has got to be included in our Christmas reel," Tony said.Or, how Steve keeps running into a masked guy with hot thighs on missions and bits of Steve that have been frozen since '45 finally defrost.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 41
Kudos: 355





	1. Take what you have gathered from coincidence

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title is from "Desolation Row" by Bob Dylan  
> "The beauty parlor is filled with sailors, the circus is in town"
> 
> Chapter One title is from "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue" by Bob Dylan
> 
> Fic is complete and I'll post chapters as my betas finish fixing my egregious punctuation mistakes. All hail samvara and maharetr!

A quick and dirty job, that was what it was supposed to have been. Natasha, Tony and Steve, dropping onto an anarchist base somewhere in the Nevada desert, and shutting everything down. Bunch of mad fuckers in the middle of nowhere, with too many weapons, not enough sense, and enough money to hire augmented muscle for security. Messy. 

And now? Steve was part way across the anarchist compound, running in the shadows, when someone tossed a knife into his thigh. 

He hauled the blade out, a nasty 6 inch serrated-edge piece, and swerved towards the doorway the throw had come from. This was personal. He’d been using that thigh. 

Steve eased through the doorway and someone punched him in the face hard enough to slam him across the darkened room, crashing into shelving.

Blood streamed down Steve’s face from his nose and mouth. That fucking hurt.

He threw himself at the shape in the darkness, rolling to dodge a shot at the first glint of a gun barrel, and collided fist and chest with the person holding the gun. 

The person was big, like Steve, absorbing the impact of Steve’s blow with a grunt and a crash as they smashed into a desk. Steve grabbed the other person, lifted them up, and pounded them back into the remains of the desk, sending the gun flying.

Steve rolled to the floor, taking his assailant with him. He wrapped both hands around the other person’s wrist, trying to shake the knife loose from their right hand. The man was wearing a mask covering their eyes and nose.

The other hand had a firm grip on Steve’s helmet, yanking his head back, as they thrashed across the floor, kicking and kneeing at each other.

The knife went, lost in the confusion, and Steve pulled his opponent’s right hand up. He pinned the other person down with hands and body mass, while they squirmed under him.

A jolt of adrenaline ran through Steve’s body. This was the best fight he’d had in a long time. 

“Draw?” the person under Steve said.

“This isn’t a draw. I’m on top of you,” Steve said. “I win.”

“But I’ve got a knife at the back of your neck.”

A pinpoint of metallic pressure, just below the hairline. 

“Draw,” Steve agreed.

A quick gleam of teeth, and ridiculously and improbably the other person lifted their head and kissed Steve’s cheek. “Then get off me, asshole.”

Steve jumped up and back, and the other person was out the door and across the compound.

“There’s some hired talent running around,” Steve said activating his comms. “Professional courtesy, let’s not kill him.”

“Big man, fast?” Natasha asked. “He’s over the perimeter and off into the desert. Was he one of ours?”

Steve wiped the blood off his chin. “Didn’t recognize him.”

The armory went boom and against the sound of background explosions, Tony said, “We’re done here. Let’s go somewhere with room service while the local sheriffs mop up.”

Blood showered off him, Steve pulled on underwear and a t-shirt, then sat on one of the hotel suite beds beside Natasha. 

“Doesn’t need stitches,” he said, showing her the stab wound in his leg. 

Natasha pulled on a plastic glove and poked at the wound, which still leaked slowly. “Dab of glue?” she suggested, and Steve nodded. 

Across the room, at the dining table covered in plates of food and clusters of tech, Tony tapped at his screen and murmured to JARVIS.

“Got a lead on who the big stabby dude was?” Natasha asked. 

“Nope,” Tony said. “I’m working on pulling together some footage of him fighting Steve.”

“Bodycams?” Natasha asked, putting the cap back on the glue and covering Steve’s thigh wound with a dressing.

“Steve’s cam got blood on it after the first punch, but I’ve retrieved some of the security footage from the site.”

Ten minutes later, the three of them watched night vision footage of Steve being punched hard in the face, then Steve and the other guy throwing themselves around an office.

“ID, Nat?” Tony asked. “Do you know this person?”

“No,” Natasha said. “But show me the fight again slowly. The fight style looks familiar.”

“That hurt,” Steve said, watching the face punch in half time. “I might have a bruise.”

Natasha leaned forward. “Stop it there.”

The screen froze on Steve grappling with the other man, after Steve had shaken the gun out of the man’s hand. 

“There,” Natasha said. “That’s when he started pulling his blows.”

“Huh?” Tony said, starting the footage again.

The three of them watched Steve and the other man wrestle on the floor. 

“Steve’s pulling his blows too,” Tony said. “Why?”

Steve colored. 

“Then he’s got a knife at your neck,” Natasha said. “Then there’s the headbutting, and you break it off so he can run away.”

“We were evenly matched,” Steve said. “Without a tactical advantage to tip the balance, the best option was to back off.”

Natasha glared at Steve. “...and when did you develop a sense of self-preservation?”

“Today apparently,” Tony said. “Let’s watch it again. It’s ten seconds of two muscle mountains destroying furniture, then twenty seconds of sweaty foreplay while they hump on the floor. This has got to be included in our Christmas reel.”

Steve stomped off to the bathroom, leaving Tony and Natasha laughing over the footage.

The door closed and Steve sat on the lid of the toilet with his face buried in his hands. 

He had never before been so grateful for the bulky and unyielding nature of his jumpsuit. If Tony had any idea how hard Steve’s dick had been while he’d been fighting, Steve would never, ever hear the end of it. 

And that was before the random kiss. Steve’s gratitude that the security camera angle had made the kiss look like a headbutt was endless. 

~ ~ ~

Natasha was humming to herself tunelessly over the comm while she worked in the data centre, downloading files and wiping drives. Steve appreciated the low level contact, very reassuring given how long the job was taking. 

A lot of research data, mixed up with drop locations and personnel files, in a giant cocktail of chaos. Chasing down the final leftover leads in the Tesseract case was a mess.

A lab worker strolled down the corridor to the data center, right past the darkened alcove where Steve was hiding. Steve snaked out an arm, jerked the worker out of sight into the alcove, and tranqued her. 

Another one for the pile at his feet. 

This one had been carrying a mug of coffee, which was sadly now all over Steve. 

“Another one,” Steve murmured over the comm. 

“Efficient,” Clint said approvingly in his earpiece. “Nothing moving out here.”

Their luck was holding.

A faint scrape above Steve’s head made him look up, pistol in hand. 

Something was moving in the crawlspace. If it was a rat, it was a very large one.

A soft whistle, single tone and a rising note, barely audible. Steve froze, his gut churning. He knew that sound. That was what an Acme Thunderer whistle sounded like. He’d worn one on his flight jacket while in active service in World War Two. 

A ceiling panel slid across and lifted up, and a pair of boots appeared in the opening. 

“Company,” Steve whispered, as a man in tactical gear lowered himself out of the ceiling space and dropped to the ground in the alcove.

A masked man, with his weapons holstered.

The man nodded to Steve and looked down, presumably at Steve’s tranq pistol. 

Steve holstered his tranq gun. Arguing would only alert the lab security to their presence, and they were doing so well at stealth. 

“You okay?” Natasha asked. 

“Okay,” Steve murmured.

The man nudged at the nearest person on the pile of people with his boot and nodded approvingly. 

Steve just knew this was the man he’d fought with in Nevada, wearing a different mask this time. 

Footsteps down the corridor again, and a male voice said, “Debs? You forgot to take Geoff his coffee.”

Steve reached out and grabbed the worker, then hauled him into the alcove. The stranger hit the worker hard on the back of the head, knocking him out, and Steve added him to the pile. 

Another fucking cup of coffee everywhere. 

Steve couldn’t see the stranger’s eyes behind the mask, but he thought they were laughing at him.

The stranger tapped his ear and made a cut movement with his hand.

Yeah, okay.

“Going quiet,” Steve murmured, and he muted his mic. 

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Steve said in a low voice, then realized that, shit, he was flirting. The other guy probably hadn’t enjoyed the last fight anywhere near as much as Steve had. 

“Why?” the other guy asked. “I think blowing up a mad scientist’s base together is a perfect second date.”

Or? Maybe he had?

Steve grinned, keeping one eye on the corridor. “Hi, I’m Steve.”

“I know who the fuck you are,” the other guy said. “You have a media team. I’m the Winter Soldier.”

A faint burr of an accent? Something Eastern European, Steve suspected, now overlaid with generic American.

“Good to meet you,” Steve said. 

The guy nodded. 

Damn, they were standing close together in the alcove, with the pile of lab technicians at their feet. 

Someone twitched in the pile, so Steve tranqued the leg that had moved.

“You gonna torch the place?” Steve asked.

“To the ground.”

“Can you wait until my team is out? And the lab staff?”

The guy leaned an arm against the wall beside Steve’s head. “Sure. Wouldn’t want to hurt your pretty face. Hold still.”

Oh, Steve was holding still. Possibly he was about to be stabbed again or shot? Or possibly…?

The guy pushed in close to Steve, and Steve could smell sweat and skin. A click beside Steve’s neck and he undid his mask. 

Stubble drifted over the skin of Steve’s neck, and a ghost of lips. “I want to see you when we’re not working.”

Lips against his earlobe, drag of teeth along his jaw. 

Steve could hear footsteps in the corridor again, a heavier tread, with the faint creak of body armor.

“Yes,” Steve said, then he wrenched himself away.

Security guard this time. Steve grabbed the guard before he could draw a weapon, pulled him into the alcove, and the Winter Soldier shot him with a silenced pistol.

The Winter Soldier had clipped his mask back into place while Steve had his back turned. 

“Later,” the Winter Soldier said, then he jumped up to grab the rafters in the ceiling and pulled himself up into the crawl space.

Steve unmuted his comm.

“Independent contractor on location,” he murmured. “Black tac gear, mask. Treat as non-hostile, until proven otherwise.”

“Interesting,” Clint said. 

“Why, Cap?” Natasha said. “What have you been up to?”

Steve didn’t answer.

Later, Steve watched from the SUV they had used for the job while the base imploded, then burst up into the night sky in a ball of flames. The Winter Soldier had indeed torched the place.

After the mission debrief where Steve gave an edited account of his meeting with the Winter Soldier, he found himself sitting in Hill’s office, with Coulson alongside Hill.

“You’ve met the Winter Soldier twice,” Hill clarified, and Steve nodded.

“Threat assessment?” Coulson asked.

Steve considered for a moment. “Boosted strength and reflexes. In hand to hand combat, we are equivalent, where I have a mass and reach advantage, and he has an un-ranged weapons advantage. Excellent knife throwing skills. Carries pistols, SMGs and a compact rifle, as well as many knives.”

“His arm?” Coulson asked, opening the file in front of him on the desk and showing Steve a low-grade security cam photo of a masked man with loose shoulder-length hair, SMG hoisted on to his left shoulder by a gleaming metal arm.

Steve stared at the photo. “May I?” he asked Coulson, and Coulson nodded. 

Steve picked the photo up to study it more closely. The mask covered the man’s face from above his eyes to his chin, so there was nothing there to be gleaned. His thigh holsters held pistols and knives and his tac gear included a body harness for securing additional weaponry. 

The thighs. In the photo, the man’s thighs were solid, muscles pushing against his clothing as he strode. Steve recognized the thighs, more than anything else.

“Opinion?” Hill asked. 

“Definitely the same man,” Steve said, handing back the photo. “He was wearing gloves both times, so I didn’t see his hand. If he’s augmented, it would explain why the face punch hurt so much. What do you know about him?”

“The Winter Soldier was a ghost for decades, no more than rumor. A Russian, probably doing wetwork for the Soviets until the wall came down in ‘89,” Coulson said, then he paused, clearly wondering if he needed to explain anything to Steve.

“Fall of the Berlin Wall,” Steve said. “Dissolution of the USSR. Gotcha.”

Coulson nodded. “Yes. He disappeared in the decades after that, then about two years ago, he re-appeared on the kinds of bulletin boards and gossip sites we keep an eye on. He was looking for work as a freelancer.”

“So, whoever he was working for before cut him loose two years ago?” Steve asked. 

“Or he cut himself loose,” Hill said. “Can’t imagine that an elite assassin is easy to keep loyal and focused for an extended period of time.”

“Care and upkeep of people like me must be ruinous,” Steve said. 

“You’re okay. If he’s anything like Stark, he may just have been shown the door,” Hill said. “Regardless of how good he is.”

“So, we don’t know anything about him, except that he’s former Soviet and now a free agent?” Steve asked. “Are we sure he’s Soviet? He’s got an Eastern European accent, but I got the feeling he had some US military background. I can’t pin down why.”

“No record of him except as a Soviet agent,” Coulson said. “He could have some double agent experience, perhaps?”

Hill nodded. “If you have further contact, perhaps you could assess him for potential SHIELD recruitment?”

“If I have further contact, I’ll do that,” Steve agreed. 

In the canteen, Natasha slid into a seat beside Steve.

“We need to talk about the mission and the Winter Soldier,” Natasha said, poking at the sandwiches from the SHIELD kitchen. “What is this? Do you know?”

Steve looked at the gelatinous thing Natasha had pulled out of her meal and shook his head. 

“Discard,” Steve suggested, and Natasha pushed it aside. 

“Ugh, American food,” she said. 

“You know him?” Steve said, over his plate heaped with slabs of lasagna. Missions made him hungry.

“He shot me once. I’ll show the scar in the showers next time,” Natasha said. “Why did you turn your comms off?”

“To flirt,” Steve said. 

Natasha paused, about to bite into her sandwich, then put her food down again.

“With the Soldat?”

“Yes.”

“Got a death wish?” Natasha asked, and Steve shrugged. 

“Could be.”

Natasha picked up her sandwich again, shaking her head in disbelief. “Your funeral.”

Maybe the Winter Soldier did want to kill him. Or maybe, just maybe, the Winter Soldier wanted more than twenty seconds of sweaty wrestling.

~ ~ ~

The text message was blandly anonymous. 

_Unknown number: 11pm Friday, Jojos, at the bar_

The Winter Soldier hadn’t appeared at any of the recent missions the team had run, and Steve had gone from watching hopefully to no longer expecting to see him in the weeks that had passed. 

The text message, though? That could be him.

Tony ran a discreet reverse trace on the number for Steve, with only minimal teasing. “Why, Steve?” Tony asked when Steve called him. “Why?”

“For sex,” Steve said, because that seemed the easiest way to get Tony to help.

And also, it had the benefit of being at least partially true. 

It had been such a long time since he had felt even a flicker of anything like attraction, but the drift of stubble up his neck had woken something he thought had died in ‘44. If nothing happened, or the Winter Soldier just wanted to stab him again, he didn’t really care. If he could feel that ache now, he could feel it again in the future. That was worth getting shot for.

Also, he just might get to have sex.

“It’s a burner,” Tony came back with. “Purchased in the US, currently inactive and not traceable unless you can get a voice call going for me. Go and have lots of muscly sex with people who own burner phones. Let me know if you want a hand setting up Grindr, okay?”

“What’s Grindr?” Steve asked, and Tony laughed.

“Like Jojos, but for the whole world. Get an account, get laid lots, Cap.”

“Thanks,” Steve said. 

Whatever Grindr was could wait. Steve wasn’t up to dealing with the whole world yet. He’d take it one assassin at a time. 

He saved the number as Burner Phone Guy in his contacts.

~ ~ ~

Steve understood queer bars, from Brooklyn and a life long ago. 

Jojos on the Friday night was crowded.

He pushed through the crowd in the front rooms, with loud music and flashing lights. People looked at him, but not with recognition. He knew he didn’t look like his media photos, with his hair unstyled and his bike jacket over a black T-shirt and black jeans. 

He looked back at people, keeping his gaze speculative and his face and posture open. No threats here, only cruising. 

The next room was a pool room and bar, dark apart from the lights hanging over the pool tables. 

A man, shorter and younger, touched Steve’s arm, and said, “Fuck, please tell me you’re on Grindr?” as he pulled his phone out of his jeans. 

“Meeting someone, sorry,” Steve said. 

“If you’ve been stood up, can I buy you a beer?” the man asked. 

Steve looked at the young man and could see only anonymous desire in his eyes. 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Sure.”

Steve pushed through the press of bodies to the bar running the length of the room. The bar stools were all occupied and people were clustered against the bar between the stools. At the end of the bar, a guy sat leaning on his elbows, his dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. He was wearing a biker jacket, like Steve’s, and gloves. Steve couldn’t see his face clearly because he had a full beard and was wearing classic Aviators.

The Winter Soldier. 

Steve pushed his way up to the bar beside the Winter Soldier and held up his hand for the bar staff. He indicated beers for himself and for the Winter Soldier then slid a bill across the counter. 

The Winter Soldier looked up at Steve and smiled, and Steve’s belly twisted in a good way. 

“You made it through the bar without incident?” the Winter Soldier asked.

“Not entirely,” Steve said. “I did make back up plans for if you weren’t here, and I clearly need to work out how to use Grindr.”

“Those are sensible arrangements, not incidents,” the Winter Soldier said. “Get your ass into circulation, Steve. You could make a lot of men happy.”

Steve grinned at the Winter Soldier, who was clearly trying not to laugh at him.

The barman put their beers down and winked at Steve. 

“See?” the Winter Soldier said. 

“I’ll settle for being happy myself,” Steve said. 

“Yeah?” the Winter Soldier said, and Steve nodded. 

“What about you?” Steve asked. 

“I don’t have a contract with an employer that includes a morality clause,” the Winter Soldier said. 

Steve leaned closer. “Do you know what I told my employer at my intake interview?”

“No, I don’t,” the Winter Soldier said. “I’ve not worked out how to steal that file yet.”

“That I was a flaming queer, of the old school variety, and they had better work out how to deal with that because at least some of the dicks I sucked in Brooklyn and then Europe must still be alive.”

The Winter Soldier laughed, making Steve laugh too.

“What happened?”

“I assume someone did some research,” Steve said, shrugging. “Did they really think that none of us served before DADT? That we stopped fucking because we were in uniform?”

“I’m now imagining somewhere in a nursing home, grandpa in a rocking chair looking back over his life with satisfaction, and saying, ‘Ah yes, when I was eighteen, Captain America fucked me senseless.’”

“I’m glad I’ve done some good in my life,” Steve said. 

“Want to do some more?” the Winter Soldier asked. 

“Do you have a plan?” Steve asked.

The Winter Soldier nodded. “Not your place, and not my place. I thought of a hotel, but anywhere decent has cams, so we’d have to break in, and honestly, we’d destroy the furniture.”

“Vehicle?” Steve asked, because he’d had the same ideas.

“Have you seen the size of the pair of us?” the Winter Soldier asked. “I don’t think even a stretch Hummer would be big enough. We’d kick out a door or punch through the roof.”

“But you have an answer?”

“I do,” the Winter Soldier said, sliding off his bar stool and picking up his beer in one hand. He held his other hand out to Steve, and Steve took it. “Follow me.”

Through the glove, Steve could feel the Winter Soldier’s metal hand wrapping around his fingers, and Steve gripped on more firmly.

The Winter Soldier led Steve down a hallway, past the bathrooms, to a large closed door. Through the door, music with a heavy bass beat throbbed. The sign read Fight Club. 

“A Fight Club?” Steve asked. “I’d like to fight you again, but I’d hoped for something less painful.”

The Winter Soldier laughed and pulled Steve closer. “Fighting you was fucking hot. I almost came when you picked me up and dropped me.”

“Fuck,” Steve said. “Yeah, got to me too.”

The Winter Soldier pushed the door open and they walked into a short hallway, where a bored bouncer sat beside a bank of security lockers. 

“Passes and phones, please,” the bouncer said. 

The Winter Soldier passed over two tokens, and Steve and the Winter Soldier both dropped their cell phones into lock boxes, and were patted down. The Winter Soldier kept his left arm high, out of the bouncer’s reach. The look on his face was unimpressed, so presumably the bouncer was inept and had missed all of his sheathed and holstered weapons. 

The bouncer reached up to a button on the wall and buzzed the second door open.

“Fight Club is a movie, which you could choose to watch if you wanted to. First rule of fight club is that you do not talk about fight club,” the Winter Soldier said, pushing the door open.

The room was in darkness, apart from a central dais, where a naked man was suspended in a web of ropes and being beaten with a cane. Around the dais, a crowd of mostly men was gathered, watching and drinking. 

“Kink club,” the Winter Soldier said, head close to Steve’s. 

Steve grinned at the Winter Soldier. “Excellent idea.”

Around the perimeter of the room, couples and groups were leaning against the walls or seated on benches in alcoves, grinding and kissing. 

The man being beaten moaned loudly over the throbbing music.

The Winter Soldier led Steve around the room, to a bench in an alcove where a man was jerking himself off. The Winter Soldier loomed intimidatingly, and the man hurriedly did his jeans up and vacated the alcove.

“Impressive,” Steve said. 

“You could menace too,” the Winter Soldier said. “If you weren’t so very polite. Get on the bench.”

Steve sat down and shrugged off his jacket, pushing it behind himself. Little light from the middle of the room bled into the alcove and no one was looking at them. The Winter Soldier had found a place that was both public and private.

“Good choice of location,” Steve said, as the Winter Soldier settled across his thighs, straddling him.

“I considered a bathhouse,” the Winter Soldier said. “But I couldn’t work out how to hide my face and arm while naked.”

Steve ran the palms of his hands up the Winter Soldier’s shirt, under his jacket, sighing at the feel of his pecs. He settled a hand on the back of the Winter Soldier’s head, fingers in his hair, and guided their mouths together. 

The first touch of their mouths was brief, a brush of lips, then the Winter Soldier leaned closer, pushing their mouths together, kissing urgently.

Steve was wound tight and the slide of the Winter Soldier’s mouth against his was just making him harder. He pushed his hand against the front of the Winter Soldier’s jeans, finding the thick length there, and ground the heel of his hand in. 

The Winter Soldier rolled his hips forward, getting pressure over Steve’s cock with his thigh. Rough denim pulled over Steve’s cock, trapping it, and it felt so fucking good. 

“Fuck,” the Winter Soldier said against Steve’s mouth, and he reached down and dragged his fly undone in a rush. “Quick.”

Their teeth clicked together, and Steve pulled the Winter Soldier’s cock out of his jeans and curled his fingers around the solid length. 

The Winter Soldier moaned into Steve’s mouth and came on Steve’s t-shirt and jeans. Steve grabbed the Winter Soldier with his free arm and pulled him down harder on his lap, desperate for friction on his cock.

The Winter Soldier’s thigh slid forward, trapping Steve’s cock, and that was enough for the buzzing tension to let go and for Steve to come in a sharp rush. 

The Winter Soldier slid off Steve’s legs and stood up, giving Steve a chance to get his jeans undone and cock out. 

“Now what?” the Winter Soldier asked.

Steve looked at the Winter Soldier speculatively, and thought of their all too brief brawl in Nevada. 

Yeah.

Steve stood up and pushed the Winter Soldier against the opposite wall of the alcove. “Get up,” Steve said, reaching down and grabbing the Winter Soldier’s thighs. The Winter Soldier wrapped arms around Steve’s shoulders and lifted himself, at the same time as Steve heaved. Then Steve shoved him hard against the wall, shifting some of the weight to the wall. 

“Fuck me,” the Winter Soldier said. “Right now.”

Steve shook his head. “Not in public. I bet you’re a screamer.”

“Do it.” The Winter Soldier let his weight drop a little, so his jean-clad ass pushed down on Steve’s cock. “Go on, shove your cock in me, fuck me as hard as you can.”

“You daring me?” Steve asked.

The Winter Soldier’s lips were slick from kissing, shining pink as he smiled at Steve and rocked his hips.

“Yeah.”

“Still not going to,” Steve said, grinding his hips too. “Not this time.”

“Fuck you,” the Winter Soldier said.

Steve chuckled. “Still not this time.” His cock was rubbing against the Winter Soldier’s ass, the kind of friction that made him want to grit his teeth or scream, painful and hot. He was leaking wetness, rubbing it into the back of the Winter Soldier’s jeans. He could come like this. He would come like this, if the Winter Soldier kept wriggling and scratching and biting.

Steve leaned into the Winter Soldier, pushing him harder against the wall, and the Winter Soldier tightened his legs around Steve. This was like the fight in Nevada, only with cocks out and a 32% lower chance of a serious injury. 

“Fight you naked,” the Winter Soldier said, his mouth against Steve’s neck, teeth catching. “No weapons. First person to black out or come loses.”

“Yes,” Steve hissed. “Fuck, yes. I need to. We have to.”

The Winter Soldier made a choking noise and thrashed in Steve’s arms. Fuck it, holding him up was hard enough already.

Except he was coming, and it was so hot. 

Steve hung on to him. “Fucking stay still,” Steve said, because his balls were tight and burning. He couldn’t come, hold on to a thrashing Winter Soldier, and keep his own knees under control.

“Fuck,” the Winter Soldier groaned, and he stopped moving around, crushed between Steve’s chest and the wall. Steve ground his cock against the Winter Soldier’s ass hard and moaned, because it was enough friction to grind through coming, and if no one moved or breathed, he could keep it together.

The Winter Soldier let out a long breath and said, “Steve? Did you just leave SHIELD’s DNA all over the wall of a kink club?”

Steve eased back from the wall and the Winter Soldier unfurled himself and got his feet on the ground.

“Oh, that’s my DNA, not SHIELD’s,” Steve said. “I got legal advice on that some time ago.” Steve staggered back and sat down on the bench again. He’d need a minute to breathe before doing anything energetic.

“Sensible,” the Winter Soldier said, swinging his leg over Steve’s lap and sitting down astride Steve again. 

The Winter Soldier kissed Steve, light and easy, then sat up and pulled his right glove off. He shoved the glove in a jacket pocket.

“Recovered?” the Winter Soldier asked, reaching for Steve’s cock, and Steve nodded. 

“Could you take your other glove off too?” Steve asked.

Behind his glasses, the Winter Soldier stared at Steve for a second, then used his teeth to pull his left glove off as well. 

“Have you ever had anyone empty you? Really drain you?” the Winter Soldier asked, curling cool metallic fingers around Steve’s cock. The touch was gentle, and slippery with the mess between them.

“No,” Steve said, and the Winter Soldier leaned forward on Steve’s legs, brushing his lips against Steve’s ear.

“I want to.”

“I tried once,” Steve said, working his hand between their bodies to find the Winter Soldier’s cock, beginning to stroke too. “Must have been late ‘44. We’d finished a mission somewhere in Northern Italy, gone back over the border into France and were holed up in a chateau waiting for transport. Twelve blissful hours of safety, somewhere warm and dry, with water for bathing. Stolen wine, everything. After what we’d seen…” Steve shook his head.

“Yeah,” the Winter Soldier said. “I understand.”

“We knew we were heading into Poland next and it was just going to get worse. But for those twelve hours, I had a locked bedroom door and my best boy, Bucky.”

The Winter Soldier moaned against Steve’s neck, nipping at his skin. “Tell me more,” he whispered.

“We didn’t sleep, and we didn’t stop,” Steve said. “He was so beautiful, underneath me, perfect mouth, gorgeous long legs…”

The Winter Soldier gasped and wetness trickled down Steve’s fingers.

Something like affection spread through Steve’s chest and he rubbed his cheek against the Winter Soldier’s hair. It should have felt strange, sharing something so private with someone whose name and face he didn’t know, but between the desire in his belly and the isolation he’d been living with, it was more like a moment of communion. 

“Did you ever have a best boy?” Steve asked, pushing his cock up into the Winter Soldier’s hand. 

The Winter Soldier’s hand stilled for a moment, and he made a soft, sad noise in his throat. “Once,” he said, his voice low and his accent much thicker. “It was a filthy hot summer evening, and I was sitting on a fire escape with a beautiful boy, my arm around him, our shirts off. We were drinking cold beer and kissing, and I had my hand in his clothes, touching him. He sounded so desperate, like he’d die if I stopped.”

It was a fucking hot image, like it was torn from Steve’s own head, from his heart, while the Winter Soldier kissed and stroked him.

Coming was good and true, in some way Steve couldn’t clearly identify, and he let his head fall back against the wall after.

The Winter Soldier wiped his hand on his shirt and reached down to tuck himself in and do up his jeans.

“I hope your boy is still out there, somewhere in Russia, remembering a wonderful summer,” Steve said, pushing his cock into his underwear.

“Yeah, I hope so too. What about your boy?”

“He died in Austria, not long after.”

“Sorry your boy didn’t get to go home.”

Steve didn’t have a clear read on the Winter Soldier’s face, with the beard and sunglasses, but he looked distracted, a groove running down the middle of his forehead.

“This was good,” Steve said. “With you.”

“It was,” the Winter Soldier said, his attention back on Steve. “Next time, let’s go somewhere you can throw me across the room and then fuck me.”

Steve’s dick twitched, because it really didn’t know when to quit. 

“I’ll work on finding somewhere,” Steve said. 

The Winter Soldier stood up and tucked his shirt into his jeans. He was a mess, they both were, but they should at least pretend not to be as they walked out. 

After Steve had stood up and pulled his jacket on, the Winter Soldier leaned in and kissed him, a gentle brush of lips, and Steve could feel him smiling.

On the dais in the middle of the room, two men were in stocks, having their asses spanked with paddles, each stroke a sharp smack. 

Steve had forgotten about the rest of the room, he’d been so focused on the Winter Soldier. So much for situational awareness. Apparently he was highly distractible while getting off. 

They retrieved their phones from the security lockers and at the door to the main part of Jojos, the Winter Soldier paused. 

“I’m going to have another drink,” he said. “So we can leave separately.”’

Steve squeezed his shoulder. “Sure.”

Steve walked through the bar, very aware that his t-shirt and jeans were wet with come in places and that he reeked of sex. He could feel the looseness in his hips and knees, the half-smile on his face, and couldn’t hide those either. 

Judging by the amount of phone scrolling that followed him, he was really going to have to look into Grindr. 

~ ~ ~

Tony was in his lab in Stark Tower, surrounded by dismantled Iron Man suits, broken machinery, take away containers and empty coffee mugs.

“Ooh, fancy clothes,” Tony said, putting his soldering iron down on something that immediately started smoking. “Doing fancy things?”

“Presentation at the UN,” Steve said. “Gotta wear a suit. I left before it escalated to tuxedo-time. Also, you’re on fire.”

Tony wiped his forehead, smearing stuff from his forearm across his face, and then picked up a miniature fire extinguisher to put out the small incendiary event on his workbench.

“Pepper said I couldn’t see you unless I brought food,” Steve said, holding out a deli take away bag. “Eat or I might not get visiting rights again.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but also opened the bag, took out a package at random and started eating.

“Why are you here? Did you break the shield again?” Tony asked around a mouthful of bread and salad.

“Not this time,” Steve said. “I’m here to take you up on the assistance you offered.”

Tony looked blankly at Steve, chewing with his mouth open. “Cap, I’m always offering to help people. I’m going to need more than that.”

Steve slid his phone across the cluttered workbench, among the equipment and parts. “You said you’d help me set up Grindr.”

Tony’s face lit up, he beamed at Steve and abandoned his food.

“Fuck, yes! Captain Studmuffin, I would be delighted to help you get your amazing ass fucked!”

Steve leaned against the workbench, knocking things over, and grinned back. “Okay.”

Tony handed Steve’s phone back and dug under the workbench to pull out a new phone, still in its packaging. “First, let’s get you a private phone and number, keep SHIELD out of your dick business.”

Partway through pulling the plastic case open, Tony looked up and said, “How did it go with Mr Burner Phone?”

“Hot semi-public sex in a kink club,” Steve said.

“I’m so proud of you!” Tony said. “That’s exactly the sort of thing I used to do.”

Steve moved a couple of coffee mugs that were in danger of crashing off the workbench. “I figured that. I haven’t worked out where to take people for private sex. How did you balance privacy and security?”

Tony stopped tapping on the screen of the new phone. “I kept buying condos and using them until the security was wrecked. I don’t think I’ve ever sold any of them, so I must own fuck pads all over the world. You should buy a place, somewhere SHIELD doesn’t snoop.”

“I will,” Steve said. “I have another request. A more difficult one.”

Tony put the phone down and leaned his elbows on the bench. “Butt plugs? Restraints? A sex tape for the Christmas reel?”

“I need somewhere… indestructible... to fuck, maybe just the once, maybe more often.”

Tony’s eyes went wide. “Do I even want to know who?”

“Possibly not,” Steve said. “I was wondering if I could use the hardened suite here?”

“If you’re bringing super-fuck-buddies into the Tower, I am going to have to know who they are,” Tony said. “Before I even think about letting you trash Bruce’s containment suite.”

“The Winter Soldier.”

“Two hundred pounds of sweaty muscle from Nevada?” Tony asked. “Wow. Is there a special Grindr for people as enhanced as you two?”

“No, we have to pick up on missions,” Steve said, and Tony shouted with laughter.

“If I was 20% queerer and 100% less monogamous, I too would have fallen for your slick military styling and astonishing abs,” Tony said. 

Steve waited while Tony poked at the muffin from the deli bag. “Okay,” Tony said. “I can handle the security at the Tower, even if the Muscled Destroyer is a hostile. He’ll have to agree to handguns only, no large caliber weapons.”

“Okay, no SMGs then. You’ll turn off surveillance in the suite?” 

Tony nodded. “Unless JARVIS says you’re dead, in which case sorry for intruding on your privacy.”

“I’m okay with that,” Steve said. 

“Let me know when you want to use the suite so I can set up security access for you. I’ll make sure Pepper is off-site, as my own precaution,” Tony said. “I need to take your photo for your Grindr profile. Get your gear off.”

“Can you move Mr Burner Phone across to the new phone too?” Steve asked, undoing his tie.

“I can do anything,” Tony said, lifting Steve’s new phone to take a photo of Steve unbuttoning his shirt. “Stand in front of that blank wall. I don’t need all my proprietary shit in the background of your fuck-me photos.”

Steve walked out of the Tower a short while later and headed to Spikey, the bar in the lobby of the next building. He ordered a double bourbon and sat down at a table. Enough Stark Tower employees and crew drank at the bar that no one paid him any attention. He wasn’t Tony blasting in with the entire R & D team for post-lab-disaster drinks, so the bar staff didn’t blink.

Steve checked for the location of the cams in the bar, angled his private phone so the screen was hidden, and unlocked it. The background image was one of the photos Tony had taken of Steve’s back and it made Steve shake his head. Tony was a nuisance.

Steve’s Grindr name was MuscldUnicorn. Tony had assured him that the spelling error was necessary, that Studmuffin was already taken, and that the name conveyed the right mix of ripped hunk and World War Two lost boy. Steve didn’t always understand what Tony said. 

His user photo was a side shot with his shirt fully unbuttoned and most of his face in shadow. He did not look like himself, which was the point he guessed.

 _Single. 31 years old. Status: negative and on PrEP_ , which Tony assured Steve was the closest option to hopped-up on Erskine serum.

The app showed him page after page of photos of men in the immediate area. Faces, chests, bellies. Some of them nearby, according to their location status.

He could message one of them? Or try changing his status to visible?

Why not go visible?

It felt hot, sitting in a bar in New York, changing a setting on his phone, opening a door to the world.

A message. Another. More.

Send photos. Meet to suck dick. Smiley faces. Reply for other people’s photos.

Tony had set the alerts on his phone to silent, but in the app the message count kept growing.

One of the messages had Spikey, the name of the bar, in the title.

_you’re really close. Please tell me you’re the hot guy sitting by himself near the window_

Steve looked up and around the bar. A man in a dark suit at the bar looked back at him and grinned.

Steve nodded to the man.

Suit-guy walked across to Steve carrying his drink, and sat down opposite. He looked in his forties, tie-loosened and top shirt button undone. The suit was tailored and sharp, reading ‘financier’, not ‘federal agent’. 

“Hi,” he said. 

“Hello,” Steve said. 

Okay, no names. Some things hadn’t changed since the ‘30s.

“You look familiar,” the guy said. “Have we hooked up before?”

“Definitely not,” Steve said. 

“You got a place nearby?”

“Hotel room,” Steve said. “I’m in New York for meetings.”

“Good,” the guy said. “My place is pain to commute to.”

A couple of hours later, the guy sat on the edge of Steve’s hotel room bed and buttoned up his shirt. 

Steve shoved another pillow behind his back as he sat up, but didn’t feel obliged to get dressed as well. The guy seemed real happy to keep on looking at Steve too.

“My Grindr fucks don’t usually go this well,” the guy said. “You’re incredibly hot. That was great.”

Steve stretched. “I had fun too.”

“Maybe next time you’re in New York?” the guy asked.

“Maybe,” Steve said. 

The guy’s business card was on the nightstand. Steve didn’t have to make a decision yet.

When he’d gone, Steve called room service and ordered two meals for himself. He’d probably have to put sweats on to open the door for the meals eventually, right?

He felt… satisfied, yes. He’d come a couple of times. The guy (Digby, the business card informed him) had been pleasingly loud. They’d sucked and fucked. 

Yeah, it had been low effort and easy. He’d had to remember to hold back his strength every second, which meant not fully relaxing into the fuck, but he still felt mellow and content. 

Steve sent Tony a message. _Thanks for your help. A+ would recommend_

Steve was partway through the second room service dinner when his phone buzzed with a reply from Tony. _You’re welcome, Captain Studmuffin_

~ ~ ~

Coulson sat on the corner of his desk. “Come in, Captain,” he said.

Steve closed the door to Coulson’s office behind him, but didn’t take the chair Coulson waved at. Coulson looked deeply uncomfortable and Steve had a suspicion as to where this meeting was going. 

“You wanted a word?” Steve said. He wasn’t doing any of the work for Coulson. If Coulson wanted to talk about Steve’s sex life, Coulson was going to have to start the conversation.

“Yes. Fury and Hill asked me to check in with you. We’re hearing whispers, more than whispers, about your social life. You’re a SHIELD agent and a public figure, Steve, and that comes with a code of conduct and an expectation of decorum.”

“Social life?” Steve asked. “Can you be more specific?” 

“Multiple sexual partners,” Coulson said. “Using an app to solicit for anonymous sex.”

Steve pulled his shoulders back. “Unless this conversation is to notify me of disciplinary action, there is nothing for you to say. I grew up knowing my personal life was illegal and I was at constant risk of imprisonment. I served with the threat of a court martial and discharge under dishonorable conditions hanging over me. I am neither illegal nor dishonorable, and we are done here.”

Steve didn’t wait for Coulson to reply and closed the door carefully behind him, because SHIELD doors weren’t built for him to slam.

No one spoke to him as he strode through the corridors of the Triskelion. He must have looked as angry as he felt.

~ ~ ~

The mission was a mess from the beginning. Poorly defined objectives, inadequate briefings, and the Albuquerque SHIELD office staffed by hyper-aggressive former cops. 

Steve, Clint and Natasha were there ostensibly to provide extra muscle in case of a shit show, but it was always going to be a shit show. They were supposed to stop a hand off of a weapons shipment between two arms traders at a remote location, impound the weapons and lock everything down while ATF sorted out the arrests.

“This smells wrong,” Clint murmured to Steve, as they suited up in the SHIELD office in Albuquerque. “Why aren’t the FBI providing the muscle?”

“Who’s being played?” Natasha asked in a low voice. “ATF? SHIELD? Us?”

“It’s New Mexico,” Clint said, leaning toward Natasha, who was strapping on her thigh holsters. “Are we being used to bust a cult? I want to know about this shit in advance.”

Steve buckled on his boot. “Let’s be extra cautious. Take nothing for granted.”

“Non-lethal?” Natasha asked, zipping her suit all the way up.

“Non-lethal,” Steve said. “Let’s make our mistakes non-fatal.”

They rode out to the location where the intel said the hand off was going to take place in the back of a SHIELD SUV. Natasha hummed to herself, staring out the window at the night-dark desert and Clint held his quiver in his hands, occasionally touching the fletching on an arrow. 

The driver and the SHIELD agent riding in the front spoke occasionally in quiet voices, saying nothing of consequence. 

Steve’s unease did not dissipate during the drive, nor during the hike to the location. 

The desert was cold and the sky brutally clear, with the night sky splashed overhead in a huge spray of stars. The sliver of moon was setting. Natasha’s breath was visible in puffs, the collar her SHIELD jacket pulled up around her ears against the whistle of the chill wind.

The SHIELD team weren’t as quiet as Steve would have liked, so he waved them back to the rendezvous point and went ahead with Natasha and Clint. 

Clint moved off across the sand and low bushes toward the nearest ridge, looking for elevation and sight lines, and Natasha and Steve split to circle the junction of two tracks in front of them.

Steve’s comm clicked, and Clint said, “In place. All clear.”

Natasha was invisible in the darkness somewhere to Steve’s left, and Steve settled in between two rocks, hopefully out of sight. 

They waited, through three 15 minute check ins with the SHIELD team. It might be bad intel, in which case Steve got to enjoy hanging out and looking at the stars. Or the trade off might be happening later than expected, because desert roads at night were always tricky. Or maybe it had already happened, in which case, yeah, looking at the stars. 

“Headsup,” Clint said over comms and Steve could hear the distant rumble of truck engines. 

“Hang back, SHIELD,” Steve said over comms. 

The SHIELD team leader grumbled at Steve, but didn’t countermand the order. Request. Order.

Two long haul trucks rumbled to a halt at the dirt road intersection, 100 yards in front of Steve, running with minimal lights. 

“Getting a look,” Natasha said.

Natasha was better at the sneaky fucker work than Steve, so Steve stayed where he was.

The cab doors of the trucks opened, and drivers and crew jumped down. They were all armed with pistols. Steve could see rifles on racks in the truck cabs, but New Mexico was an open carry state, so this was not unexpected. 

“Steve,” Natasha whispered. “Rear truck. Now.”

The truck cabs were spilling light out onto the desert, the drivers and crew were drinking from mugs and joking.

Safe to move.

Steve crouched down and moved carefully toward the rear truck. In the distance, he could hear other truck engines rumbling. The handover was close.

He drew near the back of the rear truck, moving through the darkness. He couldn’t see Natasha, which was no surprise. He could never see Natasha when she was hiding. 

“Nat?” Steve whispered. 

Something moved under the truck trailer. Natasha. 

Steve began to creep forward to join Natasha and a piercing whistle sounded, single tone and rising note.

Steve froze in place ducked low. The truck drivers and crew were drawing pistols and grabbing rifles, aiming out into the darkness. Torch beams splashed across the desert.

A shot cracked, right beside Steve, kicking up dirt.

“Warning shot,” Steve said. “Nat, get safe.”

“Got a sight,” Clint said. “Return?”

“Warning shot only,” Steve said, turning around and getting his ass out of the area, back toward the ridge where Clint was located. 

“Shots fired. Go go go,” the SHIELD lead said, over the comms.

“Countermand. Sniper in area,” Steve said, keeping his head down and sticking to the darkest shadows as he ran. “Stay back.” He could hear truck doors slamming and people shouting.

The truck engines revved, loud in the night. 

“Safe,” Nat said, as the lead truck lurched into movement, roaring suddenly.

When Steve looked back, the second truck was moving too, following the first. Dust hung in the night air.

“Rendezvous not happening,” Steve said over the comms. “Clint, where’s the sniper?”

“On the move too,” Clint said. “Had them on infrared, but they’ve dropped out of sight.”

“SHIELD team, sniper may be heading to you,” Steve said. “We’re on our way.”

With the trucks gone, and sniper out of sight, Steve risked standing up fully and having a thorough look around. Across the desert, the trucks were moving dots in the distance. The second group of trucks had never made contact.

Natasha appeared beside him, a whisper of movement. She pointed at his ear, and he muted his comm. Clint was on this way down the ridge, a faint trace of movement, so Steve waited for Clint to join them and also mute his comm.

“This wasn’t a weapons convoy,” Natasha said. “The second truck was carrying people. Fucking people, Steve.”

“Undocumented immigrants?” Steve asked.

Steve thought of the Albuquerque SHIELD team, with their SHIELD-issued weapons and ex-cop backgrounds, and a couple of trucks of Central and South American refugees, and felt sick.

“Makes sense,” Natasha said. “Heading north. What was with the whistle and the sniper?”

“I think the whistle is the Winter Soldier’s call and that was a warning shot from him,” Steve said.

“Winter Soldier, huh?” Natasha said.

“I put an arrow into the dirt beside him,” Clint said. “To return the courtesy of the warning shot. We should make sure he’s not slaughtering the SHIELD team, right?”

Steve started walking quickly, back to where they had left the SUV. Behind him, Natasha said, “How come you know the Winter Soldier’s call?”

“Third mission we’ve intersected on,” Steve said. Did this count as a relationship? A warning shot was a significant step. In their job, it meant more than flowers and fancy restaurants. 

Steve switched his comm back on, and said, “Please don’t shoot us, we’re almost back at the SUVs.”

The SHIELD team leader was in a foul temper when the three of them walked up to the lead car. 

“What the fuck happened?” he asked.

“Can’t argue with sniper cover,” Steve said. “Good thing we didn’t go in hard, huh?”

Steve’s private phone buzzed as soon as the SHIELD convoy was back within range of a cell tower. He pulled it out of his thigh pocket. 

_Burner Phone Guy: Tell Arrow Boy that was a good shot  
Burner Phone Guy: What were you clowns doing there anyway?_

_Tip off weapons shipment_

_Burner Phone Guy: Bad data. Since when is moving refugees SHIELD business?_

_What were you doing there?_

_Burner Phone Guy: My job_  
_Burner Phone Guy: Successfully  
Burner Phone Guy: if I get a bonus, I’ll take you out somewhere fancy_

_Thanks for not shooting me_

_Burner Phone Guy: You’re too hot to shoot_

Natasha nudged Steve and looked meaningfully at his phone, so Steve sighed and handed his phone over to Natasha and Clint. 

Clint grinned, teeth gleaming in the light from the phone screen, and Natasha quietly said, “Take you out, huh?”

“Three missions counts as dating, doesn’t it?” Steve whispered back. 

The debriefing was a shit show as well. Steve took the responsibility for calling off the intercept, arguing that refugee movement was neither a SHIELD nor an ATF issue, and he was not putting his team at risk from a sniper for an extra-judicial matter. The SHIELD team blamed Steve, loudly. Everyone shouted, and then Steve, Natasha and Clint stomped out of the debriefing to head back to DC ahead of schedule.

Fuck it. Steve’s report to Hill on this mission was going to be blistering.

~ ~ ~


	2. Yonder stands your orphan with his gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “As hilarious as this is--and believe me the idea of Captain Naked marrying the Nameless Stabber while wearing bed linens is hysterically funny--can we go back to the bit where Hydra have taken over everything and I’ve been working for the fucking villains AGAIN," Tony said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General warnings for Winter Soldier-typical PTSD content. Specific warnings for accidental intimate partner harm. See End Notes for a detailed description.
> 
> Tags have been updated. *points upscreen*
> 
> Chapter title is from "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue" by Bob Dylan.

Steve picked the Winter Soldier up at the meeting point. He slid easily onto the back of Steve’s bike, arms around Steve’s chest. The ride downtown was as smooth as New York traffic ever was, then Steve turned down a side street and doubled around the block to the underground parking lot and the back entry to the Tower.

The Winter Soldier was silent during the ride in the Tower elevators, through the double change needed to reach the private floors. The hood on his windbreaker was pulled all the way forward, mostly hiding his masked face. Steve didn’t ask about the weapons he carried; JARVIS was more than capable of running a scan in the elevator and detecting anything that breached Tony’s conditions. 

The elevator stopped at the guest floor with the containment suite and Steve led the Winter Soldier down the hall to the reinforced doors, which JARVIS unlocked ready for Steve to open.

The containment room looked like a generic luxury hotel suite, if hotel rooms were made for giants and only had small windows up high on the walls. Steve wasn’t sure exactly how indestructible any of the suite really was, but it looked solid, with all of the furniture built in.

Steve turned to the Winter Soldier, who was prowling the room, presumably looking for surveillance.

“I asked JARVIS to turn all cams off here,” Steve said, and the Winter Soldier looked approvingly at Steve. “If you need to leave at any stage, step out of the suite into the lobby and tell JARVIS you want to exit the tower.”

“Before anything,” the Winter Soldier said, once he’d completed his bug sweep of the suite, “we need to talk.”

“Okay,” Steve agreed. “Sure.”

Steve sat down on the couch, which didn’t move at all under his weight. Tony really built these suites as fit for purpose. 

Sex? Work? Steve could talk.

The Winter Soldier sat on the other end of the couch. He looked tense, shoulders in hard lines, hands gripping his knees. 

“This is not going to be easy,” the Winter Soldier said. 

Steve asked, “What’s up?”

“I did some research on you,” The Winter Soldier said. “I didn’t know much before, apart from your unmistakable hotness, which SHIELD foolishly doesn’t put in its media releases. I was in Soviet Russia for a long time, and then my next handlers kept me on ice for decades. Not useful for keeping up with the Captain America mythology.”

Steve nodded.

“I don’t know what to do with what I found,” the Winter Soldier said. 

“Is there something in my past that’s a problem?” Steve asked. “Is this a messy thing, where I’ve hit you with the shield too many times?”

“It will be easier just to show you,” the Winter Soldier said. 

He reached for the clips on his mask and unfastened the face plate, then lifted the mask off entirely.

The Winter Soldier’s beard was trimmed much shorter than the last time Steve had seen him, showing the line of his jaw and the swell of his lips. Steve looked up to his eyes, pale blue with dark lashes, and his sharp cheekbones. The Winter Soldier was beautiful. 

Seconds of stumbling memory, as Steve’s brain tried to match a name to the insistent feeling that he knew the Winter Soldier from somewhere, had definitely seen him before, then a gut-wrenching, sickening blow.

This was Bucky’s face. 

“No!” Steve gasped. “How?”

“I don’t know,” the Winter Soldier said. “I don’t have an explanation.”

Steve couldn’t stop staring at the person sitting on the other end of the couch. He rubbed at his own face with the back of one hand, and his eyes were leaking.

The Winter Soldier wasn’t Bucky, was he?

Another gut punch, as a memory welled up.

“The summer of ‘35 was a scorcher,” Steve said. “Prohibition was well and truly over. Bucky…” 

Steve’s voice faltered, and he had to clear his throat before he could continue.

“One Saturday, Bucky stole some beers, I don’t know where from. We sat on the fire escape at the back of the tenement on Congress Street, where neither of our mothers would find us. We kissed…”

Steve couldn’t keep talking. He couldn’t. He could barely breathe.

The Winter Soldier held Steve’s gaze. 

“Bucky died,” Steve said. “He fell and died. I watched it happen.”

“Is this even possible? Is there any way to check?” the Winter Soldier asked.

The Winter Soldier’s face was real, when Steve touched it. Not some holonet illusion. Steve rubbed thumbs over the Winter Soldier’s cheekbones, traced the line of his jaw. 

“Yes,” Steve said. “Becca, Bucky’s sister, had a family. Grandchildren. Great grandchildren. We can ask to do a DNA match.”

“I was hoping for an answer tonight,” the Winter Soldier said. “I thought you would know.”

“I can ask JARVIS to match your face against the photos of Bucky in the archives,” Steve said. “If I take a photo and send it, that would work.”

“Okay,” the Winter Soldier said. “Do it.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, because this would compromise the Winter Soldier, who never let anyone see his impossible face.

Steve took the photo and emailed it to JARVIS with a request for facial recognition match against archives. His phone buzzed moments later with JARVIS’ reply.

JARVIS: Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Confirmed match.

Steve held his phone up for the Winter Soldier to read.

“Clone?” the Winter Soldier asked. “I could be a clone.”

Steve hadn’t thought of that, but presumably the Winter Soldier had had several days to work through all the possible scenarios. 

“There’s the shared memory, so only if they cloned Bucky’s memories too,” Steve said. “At which point, you’re Bucky.”

Steve felt wrecked. How could Bucky’s face be looking at him, when the Winter Soldier was talking to him with a gentle Russian burr in his voice?

“Steve?” the Winter Soldier said, and Steve tried, he really tried to pull himself together, but his fucking heart was breaking all over again.

“C’mon,” the Winter Soldier said, standing up and pulling Steve to his feet. “Show me what the bed looks like. This couch is big enough to land a chopper on, so the bed has got to be impressive.”

The bedroom in the suite was huge, with a Hulk-appropriate bed, and bathroom to match in an alcove.

The Winter Soldier whistled at the size of the bed and threw himself on it. The mattress did not bounce. 

Steve sat on the edge of the bed and the Winter Soldier rolled back across to Steve. “So this room really is for the Hulk?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. He could do this, he could talk about things other than Bucky strolling back into his life and shattering him. “If he can’t shift back for some reason, he can stay here comfortably.”

The Winter Soldier pulled Steve down on the bed and wrapped an arm around him, then winced and pulled a six inch blade out of a sheath on his lower back and tossed it onto the floor. 

“Hey?” the Winter Soldier said. 

Steve let the Winter Soldier pull him closer. “Talk to me? Tell me about you? What do you call yourself” Steve asked.

The Winter Soldier held Steve’s gaze for too long. “I’ll tell you, because if this is true then you’re the only person who remembers. If this isn’t true, then I’m sorry for all of the additional people who’ll try to kill you.” 

Steve pushed a strand of hair that had escaped the Winter Soldier’s ponytail off his face. “I’m not easy to kill,” Steve said. “I’ll take the chance.” He’d take all of the chances.

“I didn’t have a name. They called me the asset. They’d put me in a chair, wipe my mind, give me a mission, hose me down, wipe my mind, ice me. Over and over.”

“How long for?” Steve asked.

“Long time,” the Winter Soldier said. “Vechnost. Then my handler went away. Died, maybe? The new people weren’t as good.” A flicker of satisfaction passed across his face. “Didn’t wipe my brain completely each time. I built up caches of notebooks, files. Weapons. Then I made myself very, very difficult. I’d kill a team, they’d wipe me, leave me frozen for longer and longer between missions. Kill another team and blow up a base, make them hunt me down. Wipe and freeze. Next time, more damage. Freeze. Other memories than mine also faded. New handlers thought they could control me with more…” The Winter Soldier’s face twisted briefly. “Then they thought they could execute me. That last time, I made sure. Stole the book of codes, removed the kill switches from my body first, then destroyed everything I could reach. They had to let me walk away, three years ago. Then I dug the comply codes out of my brain. I’ve killed several people since who have tried to say the words to me on the subway or street.”

“And started a new life?” Steve asked.

“Started from nothing,” the Winter Soldier said. “Called myself whatever was on my most recent ID. I’m currently Aleks.”

Steve touched the Winter Soldier’s, Aleks’, left hand, and the fingers curled around his. “Your arm?”

“It broke off,” the Winter Soldier said. “In snow and rocks. I remember that. I’ve had a few arms. This will need replacing soon.”

“I know someone who probably has already got an arm ready to go,” Steve said. “Do you remember…” 

Steve wanted to ask, “Do you remember me?”

“From before?” the Winter Soldier asked, and Steve nodded. “A woman’s face, smiling at me. Fighting, when I was a child, against bigger boys. I have an echo, a memory of a memory perhaps, of being held in the dark, someone’s arms around me. And the beautiful boy on the fire escape. It’s not much for a lifetime.”

Steve pulled his phone out of his jeans and opened his photos. He found a photo of Peggy, when she was young. “Is this the woman?” he asked, and the Winter Soldier shook his head.

“Who is she?” 

“Peggy Carter,” Steve said. “Bucky, Peggy and I had a…” He paused. “Somewhere between a good time and a love affair.”

Steve opened JARVIS’ message and replied with _Photo Winnifred Barnes_

JARVIS sent back a series of image files. Steve opened the first one and held his phone out to the Winter Soldier. 

“Her?” Steve asked.

The Winter Soldier took Steve’s phone and stared at the photo. “Who?” he asked, his voice breaking.

“Winnifred Barnes,” Steve said. “Bucky’s mother. There’re more photos.”

The Winter Soldier scrolled the screen to see the other photos. “This is her,” he said. “This is who I remember.”

“She loved you,” Steve said, because Bucky was silently weeping. “She loved you and your sisters, every moment. You had a good childhood, a good home, because of her.”

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky and held him. 

“You were raised Jewish,” Steve said. “Didn’t go to temple much, had candles at Hanukkah, challah at Rosh Hashanah. You fought at school. Usually I started the fights and you did the hard work, because you always had a meaner punch and longer reach than me. You’ve still got the punch.”

“I’m not surprised you caused all the trouble,” Bucky said, wiping his face with his forearm. “What else?”

“The whistle callsign you use? That’s the same note as the Acme Thunderer brass whistles we had as part of our basic kit. We kissed for the first time when you were fifteen. You’d been making out with a girl called Beryl at the movies and were telling me all about it. She’d let you have a bit of a fumble too. You were all hot and bothered, and you showed me how you’d kissed her.”

“Girls?” Bucky said, shaking his head. “Can’t believe that.”

“You don’t go for women?” Steve asked.

“When I broke free, I was blank, didn’t know how to do anything. First thing that worked was fucking. Find a guy, get off together, get some good chemicals in my brain, do something other than wetwork. Let me work out how to be around people, then how to make it good for other people. Three years of fucking a lot. Never occurred to me to want a woman. Show me the photo again?”

Steve found his phone on the bed and pulled up Peggy’s photo. “She’s amazing,” Steve said. 

“Did I really fuck her?” Bucky asked, frowning at the photo.

“Her and a lot of other women. You liked dames.”

“Do you?” Bucky asked, handing the phone back.

“Peggy was something special,” Steve said. “Only girl I’ve been with. I always wanted to suck dick, to fuck and be fucked. Done a fair bit of that recently, and it’s been good, but I worry I’m gonna hurt the guy. Only person I’ve let go with since getting the serum has been you.”

Bucky’s gaze was speculative. “Yeah? Because what I like is someone who can hold me down and fuck me.”

“You’ve had some serum too, haven’t you?” Steve asked. “Been thinking about how you just kept going last time, how that might be a serum thing.”

“Or I was horny and you’re fucking hot,” Bucky said.

“Now I’m remembering back, before. We didn’t get much of a chance to mess around during the war, but you were something else back then too. Think you might have been given some serum when you were captured in Azzano?”

“I don’t remember anything about Azzano,” Bucky said. 

Steve pushed Bucky’s jacket open and slid his hands inside, across Bucky’s shirt, finding ribs and an armpit holster. “Probably a good thing. Let me look after you now?”

“You wanna?” Bucky asked. 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I’ll grab some water and switch some lights off first. Trouble with disabling all of the surveillance in here is that none of the automated systems work.”

Steve retrieved bottles of water from the fridge in the kitchen and manually adjusted lights through the suite. He put the water on the ledge above the bed and dimmed the lights in the room. Bucky walked out of the bathroom, looking perplexed. 

“I just used a Hulk-sized toilet,” Bucky said. “I’m a little confused by this.”

“Sure, the toilet is huge,” Steve said, shrugging out of his jacket and dropping it on the floor. “But did you see the bath? And there are Hulk-sized towels. That’s a win.”

“Towels, huh?” Bucky asked, ditching his own jacket and peeling off his shoulder holsters. “Good ones?”

“This is Stark Tower,” Steve said, peeling his T-shirt over his head. “No way Tony is going to let the Hulk have rough towels.”

When Steve looked up from unbuckling his belt, Bucky was staring across the corner of the bed at him.

“Fuck,” Bucky said. “You look like this and you’ve been fucking around? Doing good work there, Steve.”

Steve ditched his jeans and underwear, and crawled up the ridiculously large bed. Bucky sat on the edge of the bed and unbuckled ankle sheaths and added them to his pile of clothes, then pulled his long-sleeved T-shirt over his head. 

His prosthetic arm gleamed in the low light, shimmering as he moved, and his torso and shoulder were heavily scarred. 

“I don’t do this,” Bucky said, standing up to undo his jeans. “Take my shirt off, that is. Seems like covering up is redundant now, or something.”

Bucky was a solid wall, heavy shoulders and neck muscles, his right arm bulky. His thighs were as thick as Steve had imagined. 

“Glad I can see you,” Steve said, his voice rougher than he’d expected. The soaring feeling in his chest was translating directly to an intense need to touch Bucky. 

Bucky sprawled naked on the bed beside Steve. “This is remarkably normal. A bed. Closed door. No clothes. This is how normal people do this, right?”

“Not an expert,” Steve said. “Rather think normal people don’t have to borrow reinforced furniture and walls so as not to break shit.”

Bucky curled his hand around Steve’s neck and pulled their faces together. “You wanna break some things?” 

“Eventually,” Steve said. “Got something I want to do first.”

Bucky kissed him, long and sweet, then said, “Yeah?”

“Let’s find out if your body still likes the same things.”

The built-in drawer in the shelf over the bed held lube, which Steve retrieved and tossed on the bed.

“Is this Hulk lube?” Bucky asked. “Should I worry?”

“I put it there,” Steve said. “I don’t know anything about the Hulk’s lube needs and I’d like to keep it that way, thanks.”

Bucky lay back on the pillows, the Hulk-appropriate pillows. He closed his eyes while Steve kissed and nipped down his body, finding scars, tracing out bullet, arrow and knife wounds. A war was mapped across Bucky’s skin, written in his flesh.

“Suck me?” Bucky asked, when Steve nuzzled against his hard cock. 

“Later,” Steve said, finding the lube. 

In the subdued lighting, Bucky was gorgeous sprawled naked across the huge bed. His hair had partly escaped from its tie and was falling across his face. His left arm shimmered and his eyes gleamed at Steve.

“Gonna take good care of you, babe,” Steve said, squeezing lube onto his fingers.

Bucky tipped his head back and shut his eyes as Steve slid a finger into his ass. “More,” he said. “C’mon. Harder.”

“No,” Steve said, curling his finger and pushing up, feeling for the bump of Bucky’s prostate. He circled his fingertip, pushing firmly.

Bucky’s cock jerked against his belly, smearing wetness as it leaked. “You asshole!” Bucky shouted. “Fuck you!”

“Sure,” Steve said, grinning. He knelt up, changing the angle of his hand, then pushed his thumb behind Bucky’s balls and downwards, getting pressure on Bucky’s prostate from the other side as well.

Bucky howled and thrashed, so Steve leaned across Bucky, pinning Bucky’s hips down with his free hand. “Stay still,” Steve said. 

“Can’t!” Bucky gasped, kicking his legs as Steve got pressure back in the right place.

Steve got a knee onto one of Bucky’s legs to hold Bucky down more securely, because while Bucky wasn’t fighting Steve, he was fighting his own body.

“This was easier when you weren’t a warrior,” Steve said.

Bucky’s cock spurted, so Steve backed off with the pressure, and Bucky flopped on the bed, sweating and panting.

“That’s enough rest,” Steve said, a few heartbeats later, pushing gently with his finger again.

“I can’t,” Bucky gasped. 

“You can,” Steve said. “Don’t fight it. Let it happen. Your cock wants it, look.”

Bucky opened his eyes and looked down his body and then at Steve. His cock was hard, the head red and slippery with come. Steve pushed harder inside and another drop welled up and drooled out. 

Steve watched Bucky’s face, the flickers of pleasure, the gasps of surprise, and kept on building the pressure. Bucky didn’t thrash and kick this time, but Steve still kept his weight on Bucky, holding him still.

“Steve,” Bucky gasped, his eyes wide with surprise. Steve smirked at Bucky and pushed hard, keeping on while Bucky twitched and came.

“Again,” Steve said, not easing up the pressure. “Right away.” He shoved harder, thumb and finger, through the sensitivity Bucky would be feeling. He picked up the end of the orgasm, rubbing in time, rolling Bucky directly into coming again. 

Steve pulled his finger out and wiped his hand on the blanket, then flopped on the bed beside Bucky.

“How you feeling?” Steve asked. 

Bucky pushed hair off his face. “Wrecked?”

Steve knew he looked smug, he could feel the way his face was stretching as he smiled. “Consider that a positive ID,” he said. “That’s Bucky’s body.”

“Making me come three times in a row without touching my dick?’ Bucky asked. “Okay.”

Steve traced a finger through the puddles of come on Bucky’s belly then licked his finger. “Possibly not as conclusive as a photo match to your face.”

“I’m now annoyed that I don’t have memories of being a teenager,” Bucky said. “You must have been a force of nature. Bucky was a lucky guy.”

“I was a total disaster,” Steve said. “5’ 4’’ of libido and aggression, and not a shred of commonsense.” At least he was taller now.

Bucky poked a finger at his belly. “I made a mess. Gonna clean me up?”

“Oh yeah,” Steve said, leaning across to kiss Bucky. “Everywhere.”

Steve licked and sucked Bucky’s belly clean, then sucked his cock slowly and carefully, until Bucky was sighing and rocking his hips, one palm on the back of Steve’s head. 

Then Steve rolled Bucky onto one side, leg pulled up, and licked at Bucky’s ass until Bucky was slapping the mattress and shouting.

“Fuck?” Steve asked, leaning over Bucky’s shoulder, wiping his face on his forearm.

“Fuck, yes,” Bucky said. “Right now.”

The lube took some finding, but once it had been retrieved from the folds of the bedding, Steve knelt up and smeared his cock with lube. 

Steve grabbed Bucky and flipped him over onto his back, making Bucky whimper. 

“Do you want more like that?” Steve asked, remembering what the Winter Soldier had said about being being dropped in their first combat.

Bucky nodded, eyes hopeful.

Steve scooped Bucky up and stood on the bed, holding him. “All good?” Steve asked, and Bucky said, “Yes, do it.”

Steve threw Bucky on the bed, then dropped over him, grabbing his hands and straddling his thighs. The Hulk-bed didn’t move or creak. Steve was impressed, in the small part of his brain that wasn’t thinking about fucking.

Bucky squirmed, trying to get closer to Steve, not away. “Quick,” Bucky hissed. “Fuck, hurry.”

Steve used a knee to shove Bucky’s knees apart then nudged his hips higher.

“Don’t move,” Steve said, letting go of one of Bucky’s wrists to grab his own cock and hold it steady while he lined himself up. The head of his cock slid around, but Bucky held perfectly still. 

The angles aligned, the head of Steve’s cock eased in. Steve gasped and Bucky’s eyes went wide.

“Breathe, darlin’,” Steve murmured, keeping his cock steady. “Let me in.”

When Steve felt like he had enough of a grip on the process, he leaned forward and rested his hand back over Bucky’s wrist, and then kissed the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “Doing okay?”

“Fucking amazin’,” Bucky said. “Can I move my legs?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, starting to rock slowly. 

Bucky wound his legs around Steve’s hips, letting his weight drag on Steve. Steve jerked at the change in pressure, the burning at the base of his belly building.

“Gonna come,” Steve said. “And I’m gonna keep fucking you, okay?”

“Anything,” Bucky said. “Absolutely anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

Steve didn’t stop. He rolled through coming, hot and sweet, then hitched Bucky’s hips up higher and fucked in harder and faster. Their skin stuck and slid with sweat, and the bedding slipped under Steve’s knees, bunching up. Bucky’s mouth tightened into hard gasps and come slicked between their bodies. 

Steve’s next orgasm was roaring towards him, driving him on, when he looked up from Bucky’s mouth to his eyes and focused. 

Bucky’s guard was down, completely down, and he was looking back at Steve, really looking at him. It might as well have been 1944, or 1938.

Steve hoped he was looking back at Bucky the same way. 

“Come for me?” Bucky whispered, and Steve nodded. 

It was blindingly good.

Steve let go of Bucky’s wrists and pulled out. He was still hard, could have kept going, but a break sounded good. He slumped on the bed beside Bucky and grabbed one of the water bottles. 

Bucky stretched and rolled his shoulders, then took a water bottle as well. 

“What happens now?” Bucky asked, rubbing at his chest hair. “Ugh.”

“Rehydrate.” Steve said. “If we need food, we can get it delivered to the lobby and I’ll collect, or we can raid the communal kitchen.”

“All of those are good suggestions,”Bucky said, “but I was thinking of the bigger picture.”

Steve put down his empty water bottle on the shelf above the bed and rolled on to his side to face Bucky. “What do you want to have happen?”

Bucky finished his water. “I want this again. Fuck, yes.”

“I want that too,” Steve said. “Anything else?”

Bucky shrugged, one flesh shoulder, one metal. “For three years, I’ve thought that I would never remember more, that I’d been scraped almost blank. Maybe…”

“Maybe?” Steve asked. “Do you want to try and remember more?”

“Might be better than what’s already in my head. Might not.”

“I’ll help,” Steve said. “Anyway I can.”

“Good,” Bucky said. “There’s no one else who remembers.”

Steve considered for a moment. “There is one other person. Peggy Carter is still alive.”

“The girl?” Bucky said, and Steve nodded.

“Yeah. Peggy’s old, and her memory is sometimes patchy, but she’s still magnificent. I visit her when I can. You could too.”

“Let me think about that,” Bucky said. “Could be useful. Could be hugely depressing watching the two of you reminisce about wild threesomes that I’ve forgotten.”

“Do you want me to ask SHIELD for help?” Steve said. “Medical resources, that sort of thing. Pretty sure there are some telepaths on the staff too.”

Bucky snorted. “No thanks.”

Steve propped himself up on one elbow. “What am I missing? Were SHIELD your handlers?”

“The fact you can even ask that question, Steve, is a pretty good indication you know how bad shit is in SHIELD,” Bucky said. “It’s fucked up enough hanging out with you in Tony Stark’s building, but at least Tony has integrity of his own weird kind. I didn’t escape from Hydra just to voluntarily hand myself over to SHIELD.”

“Hydra?” Steve asked. “Shit.” Hydra was supposed to be gone, wiped off the planet. This was not good.

“I like that you didn’t immediately tell me that Hydra was destroyed seventy years ago,” Bucky said. “Appreciate that.”

“Do you think SHIELD is as bad as Hydra?” Steve asked. 

The look of disbelief on Bucky’s face was obvious. “SHIELD is Hydra.”

Steve’s gut lurched and cold dread ran through his body. 

Bucky reached out and took Steve’s hand. “Okay, clearly you didn’t know, which is reassuring to me.”

“How bad is it?” Steve asked. 

“I think your little corner is clean,” Bucky said. “Which is why I’ve not killed any of your people. Fury, Hill and Coulson don’t appear in any of my stolen files, except as potential targets. Anything they’re not directly in charge of has Hydra’s fingerprints all over it and is corrupt.”

Steve mentally ran over SHIELD’s wider operations. Weapons development. R and D into enhanced powers. Covert ops. The STRIKE Teams.

It didn't look good.

“Hey,” Bucky said, squeezing Steve’s hand. “You okay?”

“No, no I’m not,” Steve said. He focused on Bucky. “Okay, SHIELD is compromised, corrupt. I can act on that. Hydra still exists. I know what to do about Hydra.”

“You don’t have to fix everything,” Bucky said. “Not all fights are yours.”

“This one is,” Steve said. 

Bucky let go of Steve’s hand and slid his hand around the back of Steve’s neck, pulling Steve closer. “Not tonight. Not right now. Wanna turn off the lights? You can take first watch. I’m going to sleep better than I have for decades, because Stark knows how to do building defenses and you’re a freaking tank.”

Ten minutes later, with the lights out and Bucky’s weapons lined up along the shelf above his head, Steve lay awake and thought. 

Bucky, continuing to show that some things hadn’t been removed by whatever Hydra had done to his brain, was attached to Steve like a leech, already snuffling in his sleep.

Lose his job, lose his career. Get the person who used to be Bucky back. Steve was still ahead, by a long way. He stroked Bucky’s hair gently and set himself the task of listening and watching. He would guard Bucky through the night.

The small high windows were beginning to change color, from the reflected lights of the city bouncing off clouds to the brightening of dawn, when Bucky twitched beside Steve. He was asleep, mouth and eyes moving as he dreamed. 

“Nyet,” Bucky said against Steve’s shoulder. “Nyet.”

Bucky’s leg twitched under the covers.

Definitely a dream, a bad one.

“Hey,” Steve said gently, touching Bucky’s shoulder. “Wake up, you’re dreaming.”

Bucky jerked upright and his left arm flicked out from underneath him, sticking a knife into Steve’s shoulder. 

They both froze for a fraction of a second, Bucky’s eyes blank, then Steve leapt off the bed and out of the room, away from the row of weapons lined up on the shelf above the bed. 

He threw himself out of the suite and held the door shut. “JARVIS! Seal this door!”

“Sealed, Captain. Do you require medical assistance? You are bleeding.”

Steve touched the knife still in his shoulder. “Is anyone awake? Or will it be security?” Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Sir is awake. Shall I call?”

Steve listened at the suite door and couldn’t hear movement. Whatever Bucky was doing, it didn’t involve chasing after Steve with a pistol.

“Yes please,” Steve said. “First aid kit and a robe.”

Tony stepped out of the elevator into the lobby less than a minute later, toweling robe over one arm and large first aid kit in the other hand. He was wearing sweatpants and a Jurassic Park T-shirt, and smelled of solder flux.

Steve shrugged at him with the shoulder not stuck with a knife.

“Naked and injured,” Tony said, putting down the first aid kit and holding out the robe. “An average five am call from JARVIS.”

“You weren’t asleep?” Steve asked, taking the robe off Tony and pulling it on the half of him that wasn’t bleeding.

“Don’t sleep, definitely not without Pepper to order me to,” Tony said, opening the first aid kit and pulling on gloves. “What did you do to annoy your toy boy? Or was this consensual?”

“Nightmare,” Steve said. 

Tony grimaced. “And this is why Pepper won’t let me bring my suit to bed,” Tony said, looking at the knife. “Does it hurt?”

“Of course it fucking hurts,” Steve said. “It’s stuck in my deltoid. Missed the vein, at least.”

The door behind Steve rattled. “Hey,” Bucky said through the door. “Steve? Building? Can I get out?”

“Have you woken up?” Steve asked, through the door.

“Yes. Sorry about the knife, Steve.”

“This would be easier if you were sitting down,” Tony said. “Can we go in?”

“Tony’s here, fixing my shoulder,” Steve said to Bucky. “Can we come in? Do you want to cover up?”

“Seen one naked astonishingly-ripped hunk, seen them all,” Tony said.

Steve gestured at his face with the hand of his uninjured arm.

“Oh,” Tony said.

“Okay,” Bucky said. “That’s reasonable since I stabbed you.”

“Door, JARVIS,” Steve said, and the door unlocked. 

Bucky opened the door to the suite and Steve walked in holding his robe together, Tony following behind him with the first aid kit.

“So glad you’ve got something on,” Tony said to Bucky, who was wearing jeans but not his face mask. “I don’t think I could deal with seeing two enormous dicks before six am, not without a Kinsey scale tremble.”

Steve sat down on the couch. “Coffee?” he suggested to Bucky, who looked awful, his eyes shadowed and downcast. 

“Hi, I’m Tony,” Tony said to Bucky. “Two sugars. Captain Cock has one sugar.”

“I don’t actually know what my name is at the moment,” Bucky said. “But, hi.” 

Tony raised an eyebrow at Steve as he undid a dressing pack and then pulled out absorbent pads and glue kit from the first aid kit.

“Rough night,” Steve said. “A knife wound is not the most significant thing that has happened.”

“It’s a hard night when you lose your name. I woke up once in the economy section of a flight from Auckland to LA and didn’t know what species I was, never mind my name. My sympathies, Incognito. Okay, this is going to sting,” Tony said. 

Steve focused on Bucky poking around in the kitchen finding coffee-making equipment, rather than Tony gripping the handle of the knife.

Smooth pull and the blade was out, making Steve’s eyes water, then Tony slapped a pad over the wound and held it firmly in place. “If you need more than glue, I’m calling in backup. You do not want my sewing in your shoulder.”

“I can suture,” Bucky said. “If needed.”

“Useful,” Tony said. “Good you can clean up after yourself. I see the two of you didn’t break the couch. Was the rest of the suite robust enough?”

In his peripheral vision, Steve saw Bucky set the coffee dripping and rub at flakiness in the hair on his belly, then stop in a hurry.

“Didn’t break anything,” Steve said. 

“Excellent,” Tony replied. 

Steve looked across at Bucky, who was lining up mugs. “I’m going to talk to Tony. Do you want to be here for this?”

“There’s more?” Tony asked. “Apart from rampantly good fucking and a knife wound? You’re making me nostalgic for my bachelor days, Steve, and don’t you dare tell Pepper that.”

The coffee machine dinged and Bucky poured mugs of coffee. “I’ll stay,” Bucky said. “Tony will have questions.”

“Oh, Tony has so many questions already,” Tony said. “Can I play with your arm for a start? That is a tasty piece of tech you have there, and I want to know what the power source is. Please tell me you don’t have anything radioactive in your arm. If you do, I can absolutely swap it out for an arc reactor.”

Bucky put the mugs of coffee down on the table, Tony’s just out of reach, and sat on the edge of the table.

“First aid and talk first,” Steve said, picking up his coffee with his free hand and taking a mouthful. “Then arm.”

Bucky said, “I was an involuntary Hydra asset for a long time. The fucked-upness of it meant I wasn’t aware of how long until last night, but it would appear to be since 1944.”

Tony swiveled on the couch to see Bucky more clearly. “Shit.”

“Escaped, or was released, about three years ago,” Bucky said. “Been freelance since then, in between taking out Hydra resources when I can. Hydra has infiltrated SHIELD extensively. I believe Fury, Hill and Coulson are clean, as is Steve’s team. But no one else.”

“No one?” Tony asked, looking appalled. “No one?”

“My handler’s handler was Pierce,” Bucky said. “Rumlow ran my mission teams. SHIELD is rotten to the core.”

Tony’s hand had dropped from the pad on Steve’s shoulder, so Steve put his mug down and took over applying pressure.

“Steve?” Tony asked, not taking his eyes off Bucky. “Do you believe the dude with no name and all the horror stories?”

Steve sighed. “C’mon Tony, you’re the smart one, put the pieces together. This is Bucky. Of course I believe him.”

“Your Bucky, who died in the war?” Tony said disbelievingly. “Love of your life? Soul mate? Husband?”

Steve winced, and not from the knife wound. Tony never, ever thought before he opened his mouth. 

“We were married?” Bucky asked. “You should have told me that, Steve.”

“We weren’t married, because it was the 1940s,” Steve said. “We did kind of get married in 1929 in a small informal ceremony conducted by your sister Becca and witnessed by your mom, but I don’t consider that binding, seeing as we were both children.”

“Fuck,” Bucky said. “Now I’m extra bitter about the whole brainwashing and amnesia thing, because I desperately want that memory.”

“Becca’s doll was your best man,” Steve said, because apparently sentimental childhood stories were okay. “Your mom cried, possibly from laughing. So, yes, Tony, I believe the person who used to be Bucky before Hydra fucked him over.”

Tony lifted his wrist up. “JARVIS, are you listening? Could you run some probabilities on this?”

Tony’s wristwatch said, “Sir, on the childhood marriage scenario, or on Hydra infiltrating SHIELD?”

“Fuck it,” Tony said. “Do both.”

“If I had a best man, that means I was the groom and you were the bride, right?” Bucky said. The sharp sadness had gone from around his eyes and he was looking at Steve with something like affection. 

“Ah, yes,” Steve said. “I wore a pillowcase on my head as a veil.” Steve felt downright dopey with how Bucky was looking at him, despite yet another fucking knife wound.

Tony retrieved his coffee. “As hilarious as this is--and believe me the idea of Captain Naked marrying the Nameless Stabber while wearing bed linens is hysterically funny--can we go back to the bit where Hydra have taken over everything and I’ve been working for the fucking villains AGAIN.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “What do we do?”

“JARVIS?” Tony asked. 

“Sir,” Tony’s wristwatch said. “I can find no documentary evidence of a marriage union between Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes, either in their childhood or as adults. Based on the Captain’s anecdote, I can update their Wikipedia pages to include this information if you wish?”

“Do that,” Tony said. “The other matter?”

“I am analyzing SHIELD’s financial records for indications of irregularities and compiling a dossier of transactions requiring further investigation. This dossier will not be small, Sir.”

Steve lifted the corner of the pad on his shoulder wound. “Think it’s clotting now, Tony.”

“Break out the glue gun,” Tony said. “It’s craft time. So, Ghost of Boyfriends Past, did you bring any evidence with you when you broke out of Hydra?”

“Yes,” Bucky said. “I’ve got files.”

Tony swabbed Steve’s wound and quickly laid down a line of glue. “Just got to hold these edges together,” he said. “I’ll work with JARVIS to see what the easily accessible records can tell us about SHIELD. If Knifeman here can add any more evidence to the pile, that would be good.”

“Then?” Steve asked.

“Then we call Fury and get him here. In this building, the only surveillance is mine, unlike everywhere else on the planet,” Tony said. “I’ll see who else from the team is within reach as well. Breakfast at seven am, for an update?”

“Breakfast,” said Steve.

Tony let go of the wound edges, and the seal held. “How’s that feel?” Tony asked.

“Exactly like you’d think it would.”

“Be glad I don’t sleep with a six inch blade under my pillow,” Bucky said. “Might have needed more than glue for that.”

“Please don’t stab each other at my place,” Tony said, peeling a waterproof dressing over the wound. “Pepper will never let me have friends over to stay again.”

“I’ll make the call to Hill,” Steve said. “There’s a task she gave me that will require Fury to fly here to follow up on.”

“Yeah?” Tony said. “Because I was just going to get Pepper to invite him to dinner. No one refuses Pepper’s invites, not even Fury.”

Steve picked up his coffee mug and smiled at Bucky. “He asked me to recruit the Winter Soldier to the team. We can explain to him when he gets here that the Winter Soldier has recruited the team instead.”

“Fury wanted to recruit me?” Bucky asked. “I feel something. It might be honored. It might be low blood sugar. Can’t tell without breakfast.”

“Seven am,” Tony said. “Don’t kill each other before then. Get JARVIS to call EMS for any further first aid crises, I have research to do.”

Tony left the first aid kit behind and went off, talking to JARVIS excitedly about Bucky’s arm as he closed the door behind himself. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, once they were alone. “Have I fucked this up?”

Steve held out his arm on his uninjured side and dropped it on the back of the couch. “No. I dream the same way. Wake up shouting and punching. I’ve broken so much shit.”

Bucky nodded, and tentatively moved to sit beside Steve on the couch, where Steve’s arm was draped. “I never sleep next to anyone. Never. Thought last night it would be okay, that I was mellow enough from fucking, feeling good. Shit.”

“You don’t have to stop sleeping next to me,” Steve said. “Just please don’t put a knife under the pillow again.”

“What if I hit you?” 

“Even chance it will be me hitting you,” Steve said. “If that turns out to be fucking awful too, then we don’t sleep.”

Bucky relaxed his head back, so it rested against Steve’s arm. “It felt good, before I broke things. If we can get it to work, I feel like it’s a step closer to being functional.”

“You look pretty fucking functional to me,” Steve said. “Got yourself out of Hydra, kept yourself alive. You’re better at dealing with people than I am.”

Bucky looked dubiously at Steve. “What did Tony call me? The Nameless Stabber?”

“Tony is an ass. Look how long I was out of the ice before I even considered having sex. Celibacy was so much easier than letting myself feel anything good.”

“Sex is easy. Finding out we were married when we were children? Fuck, I don’t know, Steve. What am I supposed to do with this information? This is the hard stuff,” Bucky said.

“You don’t have to do anything with it,” Steve said. 

“We should test out the Hulk shower,” Bucky said. “Tony was remarkably polite about how we smell.”

“Firstly, Tony burned out his sinuses with cocaine a couple of decades ago when he was stupid, and can’t smell anything, according to Pepper. Secondly, he hasn’t showered for some time, by the looks of him, and is pretty ripe too. Thirdly, Tony’s never polite. He’s oblivious.”

“We should still shower,” Bucky said. “I’m not meeting Fury or Hill smelling like this.”

Steve let himself have a lingering look over Bucky, rumpled and shirtless. “Could be good. I might get a bonus for fucking you into agreeing to a meeting.”

“You trying to get yourself fired, so you don’t have to quit?” Bucky asked. “It’s a valid approach.”

“If I get the bonus this time, I’ll take you somewhere fancy,” Steve said. 

The shower was huge, with several shower heads. If they’d had time, Steve would have picked Bucky up and fucked him against one of the shower walls, just because there was room to do it. But he was hungry and Bucky was looking tense and uncertain, so Steve settled for a lingering, soapy grind against Bucky’s thigh instead. 

Steve shaved while Bucky wrestled with the knots in his hair. “Do you want to do a DNA test?” Steve asked. “I can ask Tony to help run that outside of SHIELD’s reach.”

“Don’t know,” Bucky said. “I probably should, huh?”

Steve put the razor down, grateful the bathroom carried person-sized as well as Hulk-sized toiletries. “It is up to you. Your DNA.”

Steve called Cindy Taylor after breakfast, and Cindy’s son Evan answered her phone.

“Uncle Steve!” Evan called out. “Mom, it’s Uncle Steve!”

Steve could hear the other children shouting, trying to take the phone off Evan, and Cindy’s voice in the background, saying, “Eat your breakfasts, you monsters, and let me talk to Steve.”

Evan said, “Mom’s here,” and Cindy took the phone. 

“Hi, Steve. You’re brave, calling on a school morning.”

“Sorry to interrupt your family routine,” Steve said. “But it’s important.”

“Shush!” Cindy called out to her family. “Did you get your birthday gift?” Cindy asked. “Sorry I sent it late.” This was part of their established code, a way of checking the calls were real.

“The sweater is great, thanks,” Steve said. “I love green.” Call and answer. This was really Cindy, and Cindy knew it was Steve.

“What’s up, Steve?” Cindy asked.

“I’m calling to ask if you would be willing to give a DNA sample,” Steve said. “For a potential match with Bucky.”

“Of course I will,” Cindy said. “Does this mean his remains have finally been found?”

“We don’t know yet,” Steve said. “There’s a chance it might be him.”

In the background, Evan asked, “Is there news on Uncle Bucky?”

Steve looked up at Bucky, who was listening to the speakerphone, swallowing hard.

“Do you want me to drop into the SHIELD office in Fort Wayne during my lunch break?” Cindy asked. 

“Tony Stark is giving us a hand with this,” Steve said. “Helping with transport. Someone from the Stark Industries office in Chicago will come to you today. Call me when they do, okay?”

“Sure, Steve. Come and see us? Whatever happens with this. Okay?”

“I will do. Yeah,” Steve said. “Let me take care of this for your family first?”

“We’ll be notified, won’t we?” Cindy asked. “Officially?”

“Yes,” Steve said. “If it’s a match, there’s a formal process for returning his remains to his family. I’m sorry, Cindy, I have to go. Call me later when the staffer from the Stark office has been in touch.”

“Of course, Steve. Take care of yourself.”

Steve ended the call and sat with his face in his hands. 

“That was much harder than I thought it would be,” Steve said. He couldn’t think about Bucky being dead. 

“That kid called me Uncle Bucky,” Bucky said. “Why?”

“The whole Barnes-Proctor-Taylor clan is really proud of you,” Steve said, wiping his face and putting his phone away. “They’ve not forgotten you. I’ve visited them a few times since getting back. They’ve been good to me too. Good people.”

“I had no idea there might be family who would call me things like Uncle,” Bucky said. “I’m struggling with this.”

“A husband and a family, neither of which you knew about yesterday,” Steve said. “Yeah, that’s intense.”

Bucky’s face was thoughtful and quiet, and Steve didn’t interrupt. 

Hill answered Steve’s call. “I’m not at work yet, Steve. Why’re you interrupting my workout? It better not be to complain about Coulson.” He could hear the rhythmic thud of feet on a treadmill and the whir of gym equipment. 

“Remember that recruitment task you gave me?” Steve asked. 

The thud of running stopped. 

“You have an update?” Hill asked.

“Yes. Are you available for a meeting in Stark Tower, today?” Steve asked. 

“In person?”

“Yes,” Steve said. 

“I’ll check my schedule and make some calls. You’ll hear from me soon.”

Hill called back ten minutes later. “One pm,” she said. “We’ll fly directly to the Tower. Let Tony know to clear the landing for us, please.”

“Will do,” Steve said. “See you then.”

Hill ended the call, and Steve looked at Bucky.

“I need to retrieve documents,” Bucky said. “Can I use your bike?”

“Sure,” Steve said. “Or you can take one of the cars from the basement, if you don’t want to ride.”

Tony’s basement garage was stocked with an eclectic range of vehicles, from high performance luxury vehicles to innocuous-looking but highly modded family sedans and work vans. Steve liked to borrow the fake Verizon van when he needed a car.

“The Ferrari you parked next to?” Bucky asked. “If I wreck your bike, I reckon you’ll forgive me and I’ll be able to afford to replace it. I wreck one of Tony’s cars, and I’ll have to pull off a bank job to get the panel-beating done.”

Bucky left on Steve’s bike, into the morning traffic mayhem in midtown. Steve sat on the couch in the hardened suite and tried to have just one feeling at a time, until Bucky came back two hours later with a backpack full of papers, a duffel of clothes and several more guns. 

Tony was shuffling around his workshop, talking to JARVIS and waving his arms in the air, when Steve and Bucky walked in. 

“Kids!” Tony said. “Bring me your robot arm, Robot Boy. Let me see the good shit. Sit down in that chair, let’s get some scans happening.”

Bucky looked at the chair Tony was gesturing at and the bank of diagnostic equipment around it, and stopped still, radiating panic.

“Hey?” Steve said, beside Bucky. “Is it the chair? You don’t have to sit in it. He can sit somewhere else, or stand, right Tony?”

“None of that,” Bucky said, pointing at the diagnostic equipment, tension thrumming through his arm. Steve suspected they were lucky he wasn’t pointing with a machete.

“Right!” Tony said, wiping his hands on his T-shirt and then closing down the holographic displays he had open. “Let’s get right away from it then. What sort of shit is okay?”

“No chair,” Bucky said. “No electricity.”

“Steve, haul that chair into a storeroom or something,” Tony said. “Us PTSD folks have gotta stick together. Personally, I am deadset against fucking portals in the sky pouring out alien space whales.”

Bucky said, “What?” but Steve didn’t hear Tony’s explanation because he was carrying the problematic chair to the door Tony had gestured at. It turned out to house Tony’s vinyl LP collection rather than laboratory supplies. Steve shoved the reclining chair in the storeroom and went back to the lab.

“...and this is the handheld scanner,” Tony said, as Steve walked up. “I’ll show you how it works on Steve, okay? Arm, Steve.”

“Okay,” Steve said, holding out his right arm.

“See, doesn’t touch the skin,” Tony said. “Just glows blue. Can you feel anything, Steve?” Tony moved the scanner up and down Steve’s arm.

“Nothing,” Steve said. “But I don’t have big chunks of metal in me.”

“Point,” Tony said. “Here’s the visual of Steve’s ridiculous arm muscles.”

Tony pointed at the holographic display of Steve’s arm. 

“It is a ridiculous arm,” Bucky said. 

Tony made a scoffing noise. “I’ve seen you without a shirt. You also belong to the ‘hoarding arm muscles’ team. Let’s look at Steve’s itty bitty stab wound, while we’re here.”

“I’ve never hoarded body parts,” Bucky said indignantly. “That’s unsanitary.”

“Judgement-free zone here,” Tony said. “Here’s the knife channel, already knitting together well. Inflammation in the muscles around the area. And the glue at the top of the wound. You’re done, Steve.”

Tony turned to Bucky. “Steve mentioned metal bits. I happen to have a few of those, so I can show you what those look like.” Tony moved the scanner across his chest with one hand and flicked at the display with his other hand. “See, that’s my heart, beating. Blood moving through the chambers.” He moved the scanner. “And this is the arc reactor in my chest. I can’t feel the scan with either my flesh or the machine.”

A solid ring appeared on the display, and Bucky leaned forward to see more closely. 

“You’ve got a machine in your chest?” Bucky asked. 

“Ugh, yes,” Tony said. “Eventually it will have to be pulled out, and the shrapnel it’s managing. For now, though, I am possibly as enhanced as you are, in terms of complexity.”

“Okay,” Bucky said. “You can use handheld scanners on me, as long as I am standing and can see the results.”

“Do you want me to leave?’ Steve asked. “This should probably be private between you and Tony.”

“No!” Bucky and Tony said in unison.

“No offense, Nameless Stabber, but I have seen the video of you punching Steve in the face, and I do not want to be on the receiving end of a random twitch from your arm,” Tony said.

“Okay,” Steve said. “I’ll hang around.”

“There’s video of that?” Bucky said. “Can I see it?”

“Definitely,” Tony said, shoving clutter aside on his workbench. “JARVIS, show the Winter Soldier the Christmas reel footage, while I set up here.”

“Christmas reel?” Bucky asked, and Steve shrugged. 

“Congratulations on making the Avenger’s Christmas reel?” Steve suggested.

The video of the first fight between the Winter Soldier and Steve played on a screen projected in front of Steve and Bucky. The frames where Steve picked Bucky up and dropped him on the broken desk made Bucky grin. 

“Great fight,” Bucky said, sounding smug.

“Mating rituals of the muscular and aggressive,” Tony said. “The rest of us are reduced to using our words.”

“Can I see it again?” Bucky asked, and the video started over.

“Is this porn?” Tony asked, walking over to Bucky. “Like, homemade porn?”

“Not everyone has awesome security cam footage of their first date,” Steve said. 

“Okay, you weirdos, I’m going to start scanning now. You just keep watching your sweaty makeout video or whatever,” Tony said.

Images flickered on the holographic display and began to build up a solid outline of Bucky’s shoulders and spine.

Tony’s breath hitched, and Steve caught his eye for a moment. “What?” Bucky asked. “Have I got wings or something?”

“Not wings,” Tony said. “Though I do have an idea about that, since you’ve got all the infrastructure already in place. I’m working out where the anchor points are for the frame. Do you know who put in the internal framework? And how long ago?”

Bucky creased his forehead. “Long time ago?” he said. “Definitely before I moved to the US, so back before the fall of the USSR.”

Tony pointed at the scan, which showed a series of metal braces across Bucky’s back and rods down his spine. “This is all titanium, which is at least inert, but it’s not the lightest choice. You have must have 10 pounds of metal in your back. Now for the arm…”

Steve tidied up some of the mess on the workbench closest to him, lining up coffee mugs, stacking takeaway containers, and collecting pens.

Bucky stared out of the huge window in the lab at the distant horizon and moved his arm as requested.

“Interesting,” Tony said. “JARVIS? What do you make of the power source?”

“Complex hydride lithium superionic batteries, Sir,” Jarvis said. “Recharging off regenerative braking capture devices in the Sergeant’s torso.”

“Thought so,” Tony said. “Is the arm a bit slow moving in the mornings? Or after you’ve been stationary for a long time? Goes flat after intense combat?”

“Yes,” Bucky said. “The arm has finite power resources. I have to manage that.”

“Wanna upgrade?” Tony asked. “Something you don’t have to run laps to charge?”

“I prefer to use something like Steve’s bike, something that pulls some Gs. Running is the absolute last resort to recharge. You could build an upgrade?” Bucky said, sounding surprised.

“C’mon,” Tony said. “I live for the opportunity to make things faster and shinier. Do you know how many suits I’ve made myself? We’re heading for triple figures in prototypes.”

“Okay,” Bucky said. “If you can improve the battery process, sure.”

“I can improve everything,” Tony said. “Want a laser?”

“Not today,” Steve cut in, from behind his tower of takeaway containers. “Today you’re putting together data for the meeting with Hill, remember? That’s why we’re here, with more files.”

Tony wilted. “You’re no fun anymore. Okay. But later, I’ll work on Robot Boy’s arm.”

Tony, Steve and Bucky started sorting through the folders of paperwork Bucky had stolen from Hydra.. Casefiles, mission reports, expense claims, autopsies, R and D documentation littered the boardroom table. Bucky’s collection of paperwork was a mix of highly relevant, fascinating, grotesque, and convenient to steal. 

“This only goes back fifteen years?” Tony checked, adding another casefile to the stack in front of Steve. 

“That’s when the programming started failing, I think,” Bucky said. “There’s probably more in my head, but I don’t want to dig for it.”

Steve looked at the casefile in his hands, with a distinctive rust brown blood spray on the folder, and could understand why.

“JARVIS,” Tony said. “Any of this matching with the SHIELD dossier you compiled?”

A holographic display appeared across the end of the table. “Yes, Sir,” JARVIS said. “I have identified a statistically significant correlation between the Winter Soldier’s STRIKE team mission reports and approved international travel for key SHIELD personnel. This substantiates the Winter Soldier’s assertion that SHIELD staff operated as Hydra STRIKE team members.”

Tony leaned back in his chair. “I’ve gone from ‘this is a possibly shit situation’ to ‘I’m now persuaded the whole fucking world is on fire’.”

Bucky eased a SIG pistol out of his hip holster and slid it across the table to Tony.

“I appreciate the gesture, Incognito, but I have repulsors and RPGs,” Tony said, pushing the pistol back to Bucky.

“I have RPGs,” Bucky said. “But you wouldn’t let me bring them with me.”

“Stop it,” Steve said. 

“Ms Romanoff is in the elevator, Sir,” Jarvis said. 

The boardroom doors slid open. Within milliseconds of Natasha stepping into the room, Bucky had drawn a Derringer pistol, and Natasha had also drawn her Glock. The clicks of safeties coming off were simultaneous. 

“Natasha, this is the Winter Soldier,” Steve said. “Winter Soldier, this is Natasha, the Black Widow.”

Bucky and Natasha continued to aim at each other.

“Stand down,” Steve said. “Both of you.”

“Why is Yasha here?” Natasha asked. 

“Natalia?” Bucky asked. 

“Awesome,” Tony said. “JARVIS, gas us.”

Hissing sounds began in the corners of the ceiling.

“Stand. Down,” Steve said, more firmly. 

Natasha holstered her Glock, and Bucky flicked the safety back on his SIG while dropping it back in its holster.

“JARVIS, cancel that,” Tony said. 

“Safety, Natasha,” Steve said. “Put the damned safety on.”

_click_

“Why is Yasha here?’ Natasha repeated, turning to face Steve. 

“Who is Yasha?” Steve asked, and Natasha pointed at Bucky.

“The Winter Soldier is here for a meeting with Hill. An important meeting, which you are also attending. Don’t shoot each other,” Steve said. 

“Yasha, huh,” Bucky said. “That’s not a name I’ve heard before. I like it. Maybe that could be my name?”

“You know Natasha, though,” Steve said, turning to Bucky as Natasha sat down.

“I know you as Natalia,” Bucky said to Natasha. “You were much… younger. A dancer.”

Natasha considered Bucky warily. “What else do you remember?”

“You were a fighter, in a room,” Bucky said, his Russian accent stronger than before. 

Natasha looked pleased. “You taught me to fight.”

Tony was uncharacteristically quiet, his gaze on Natasha. 

“And, five years ago,” Natasha continued. “In Odessa, you shot me. I didn’t know it was you, just that it was the Winter Soldier.”

“That I don’t remember,” Bucky said. “I’m sorry though. I’d like not to shoot you again.”

Natasha smiled suddenly, a splash of warmth. “Yasha, we were friends once, when we were both in a very difficult place. We can be friends again, with no shooting.”

Tony exhaled loudly. “Awesome.”

Natasha looked at the paperwork on the table. “What is all this?”

“Files that the Winter Soldier brought with him from Hydra. We’re trying to make sense of the intel before Hill arrives here for a briefing,” Steve said. 

“Hydra?” Natasha said. “Oh, joy. Yasha and I can handle the non-English files, perhaps.”

Steve passed the file in front of him over to Natasha. “This one is Spanish,” he said.

“Portuguese, Steve,” Natasha said, opening the file. 

“I was in Brazil for some time,” Bucky said. “There’ll be several reports in Portuguese.”

In the kitchen of the communal living area, Natasha watched as Steve pulled platters of sandwiches out of the fridge and set them on the counter.

“How did you get Yasha here and unmasked?” Natasha asked, her voice low. “Did he wound you when you brought him in?”

“We’ve been kind of dating,” Steve said, touching the shoulder dressing where it stuck out of the neck of his T-shirt. “With the mask, so I didn’t know who he was. Then he accidentally stabbed me last night.”

Natasha’s eyebrows had an opinion on Steve dating the Winter Soldier and getting knifed, and it wasn’t positive.

“It wasn’t his face I was dating,” Steve said. “And he didn’t mean to knife me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Steve,” Natasha said. “Do some therapy or something.”

Steve leaned against the counter. “I’m realizing I have some issues.”

Natasha shook her head in disbelief.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Steve said. “I found out last night that the Winter Soldier, Yasha, is probably Bucky. He remembers very little, but there’s enough we are both reasonably confident. We’re waiting on a DNA match for confirmation.”

“Your Bucky?” Natasha said. “Display in the Smithsonian? Part of the Captain America mythos?”

Steve nodded. 

Steve had worked with Natasha long enough to know the basics of swearing in Russian, but the expletive Natasha used was a brand new word to him.

“It means something, Nat,” Steve said. “That without us knowing, we found our way back to each other. He didn’t remember. I didn’t know who he was. It felt like this was a second chance, and it really is.”

Natasha leaned across the counter and patted Steve’s hand. “Oh, honey. Yasha’s hurt. He’s been through so much. He may not have anything to give you.”

“I’m hurt,” Steve said. “And I’m empty too.”

“I know,” Natasha said. “I know.”

Tony breezed in. “Food! Stop being smoochy in the kitchen and bring us food, because once Hill arrives, we’ll lose our appetites.”

“What’s happening in the meeting that’s so grim?” Natasha asked, picking up one of the trays of sandwiches.

“SHIELD’s gone,” Steve said. “We’re about to lose our jobs.”

“I should have stayed in bed,” Natasha said, carrying the sandwiches down the hallway to the meeting room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content notes:
> 
> Bucky has a nightmare, which Steve attempts to wake him from. While still dreaming, Bucky stabs Steve in the shoulder. Steve removes himself from the suite and receives first aid, while Bucky wakes up and recovers. 
> 
> Bucky has a minor PTSD episode when Tony attempts to examine his arm.


	3. Strike another match, go start anew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint leaned forward to talk to Steve. “Tony is very cranky you lost the shield. He says someone else will have to go get it because he just punched the Secretary of Defense.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for a description of a canon-typical Winter Soldier torture scene. See end notes for details.
> 
> Chapter title is taken from "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue" by Bob Dylan
> 
> Thanks to samvara and maharetr for betaing and encouragement.

Hill and Fury strode across the helipad on the tower toward Steve, Fury’s coat flapping in the draft from the rotors. 

Behind Steve, Tony said, “JARVIS, watch the pilot. Treat as hostile.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jarvis said. 

“Captain, Stark,” Fury said, and Hill nodded at the pair of them. “Good work on getting the Winter Soldier to the table.”

“Literal table in this case, boss,” Tony said, leading the group toward the meeting room. “He’s currently in the boardroom competing with Natasha to see who can eat the most sandwiches.”

“This is true,” Steve said. “They’ve also brewed Russian tea. I suggest not trying it.”

“The Winter Soldier is definitely Russian?” Hill asked, beside Steve.

“The Winter Soldier is a lot of things, and yes, Russian,” Steve said. 

Fury and Hill followed Tony into the boardroom, where the Winter Soldier stood up and pulled his SIG on them.

“Including armed,” Steve said. “This is Director Fury and Deputy Director Hill. The Winter Soldier.”

Bucky holstered his SIG and nodded to Fury and Hill. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” Bucky said. 

Fury and Hill sat down, and everyone else settled at the table as well. 

“This is an interesting collection of documentation,” Fury said. “Have you been working on something?”

“I brought intel with me,” Bucky said. “We’ve been collating the material.”

Steve could see Hill was itching to pick up one of the folders. Just itching. 

“Perhaps you could tell us a little about yourself,” Fury said to Bucky. “Give us a sense of your background. I appreciate you’re here without a mask on. Thank you for the gesture of trust.”

Bucky looked at Steve, who nodded reassuringly.

“Before I begin, I would like an assurance that I’ll not be arrested today for crimes that I discuss in this meeting. I appreciate that you’ll not be able to provide me with any guarantee of protection from prosecution beyond that,” Bucky said. “There’s a lot of wetwork in these files.”

“This is reasonable,” Fury said. “This meeting is in camera, as far as we are concerned.”

“JARVIS, please stop recording,” Tony said. 

“Yes, Sir,” JARVIS replied.

“We are now off the record,” Fury said. 

“Three years ago I broke free from a long imprisonment as an involuntary Hydra asset,” Bucky said. “Hydra let me go reluctantly, when they could no longer sustain the body count of attempting to control me and couldn’t effectively execute me.”

“Hydra?” Hill said. “Shiiit.”

“I brought some documentation with me when I left,” Bucky said. “And collected more as I destroyed Hydra bases after.”

Fury shook his head. “I’m having trouble understanding how we could miss the presence of Hydra on the world stage.”

Bucky held Fury’s gaze. “Because you’re inside it, looking out,” Bucky said. 

Hill’s eyes widened and she shook her head fractionally. 

“Not possible,” Fury said. Hard. Final.

“We’ve gone looking for corroborating evidence, since the Winter Soldier came to us with this claim,” Steve said. “There’s enough in what is readily available for us to consider this a credible claim.”

“I’m going to want to see this evidence,” Fury said, and he sounded deeply, coldly unhappy.

Tony pulled holographic displays up. “That’s what we’ve been working on so far. We’re crossmatching the leave and expense claims of SHIELD employees that the Winter Soldier has identified as Hydra operatives with the mission reports that the Winter Soldier provided.”

“What if this is a con by the Winter Soldier? An attempt to disable SHIELD?” Hill asked. 

“What if it’s not?” Steve asked back. “What if Pierce really is Hydra? What does that mean for the implications of the weapons development programs?”

“Now the question has been asked, we have to answer it,” Fury said. “Show me what you have.”

“Okay,” Tony said, expanding one of the holographic files out larger. “Let’s get stuck in.”

They worked through the material for half an hour, looking at the obvious matches. Fury’s face got bleaker and bleaker, until Fury stopped Natasha partway through a mission report on a political assasination in South America.

“Enough,” Fury said. “There’s evidence here, but it hinges on the credibility of the Winter Soldier’s files. If any of these documents,” and Fury waved his hand at the mess of paperwork in front of them, “are forged, then the claims are invalid.”

“I have more,” Bucky said. He took a thumb drive out of his jacket pocket and handed it over to Tony. 

Tony took the thumb drive and slotted it into a hidden recess in the table. “JARVIS, run analysis on the files and open them, please.”

“None of the videos on this thumb drive have been altered or enhanced, Sir,” JARVIS said. “Each frame is intact.”

Bucky stood up. “I’ll wait outside,” he said, then he left.

The screen at the end of the room filled with security cam footage of an interior room, what looked like a dentist’s chair in the middle, and electronic and medical equipment on gurneys around the edges. Someone, the Winter Soldier, was dragged into the room and forced into the chair, then restrained. Around him, guards held SMGs pointed at him. 

“Fuck,” Tony said. 

No wonder Bucky had wanted to stand to have his arm scanned. 

On the screen, a mouthguard was forced into Bucky’s mouth and equipment lowered over his head, and he was electrocuted, thrashing against the restraints. Minutes passed, while Bucky lay limp in the chair, and more people walked into view of the security camera. 

Fury flinched; one of the people was Secretary Pierce. 

Rumlow walked behind Pierce, weapon at the ready, and stood back while Pierce struck Bucky repeatedly.

The video ended. 

When Steve looked across the table, Tony was pale and sweating, his hands restless, pulling at papers and twitching. Natasha appeared controlled and calm, but Steve knew her Kill People mask from field experience. 

Hill was blinking, not bothering to hide her adrenaline response to the video. 

Fury looked like he had been carved from very, very angry rock. 

“JARVIS, next file,” Tony said. 

Steve pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. He could watch video footage of Bucky being tortured, or he could go to Bucky. Easy choice.

Bucky was in the communal kitchen, bottle of water in front of him, hands clenched on the edge of the counter. He didn’t look up at Steve, even when Steve made sure his footsteps were audible.

Steve leaned against the counter beside Bucky. “I will kill the people in the video,” Steve said. “My personal commitment to you. Every one of them.”

Bucky rubbed his face. “I’ve tracked down half of them already. I’ll give you a list of who’s left.”

The muscles in Bucky’s neck were locked solid when Steve smoothed his hand across Bucky’s shoulder, but Bucky didn’t flinch away. 

“C’mere,” Steve said, and Bucky curled into his arms, face against Steve’s shoulder. Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky and hugged. 

“They burned the old me away,” Bucky said, his voice muffled against Steve’s T-shirt. “Bucky’s gone.”

“I know,” Steve said. “But my soul remembers yours, and that’s enough.”

“I don’t have a soul anymore,” Bucky said. 

“You’re wrong,” Steve said, his mouth against Bucky’s hair. “I can feel it burning bright.”

Boots tapped on the tiles behind Steve, and Natasha said, “Hey, can I get some of this too?”

Natasha was the most touch-averse person Steve knew, making Fury seem like a cuddly toy, but when Bucky lifted an arm, Natasha slid into the embrace. 

Steve drew Natasha in close as well, fitting her in beside Bucky in the curve of his arm. Her breathing was tight and she turned her head so her face rested against Steve’s chest.

“Fury wants you both back in the room,” Natasha said. “But I can’t. Not yet.”

“Natalia,” Bucky said, and Steve could feel Bucky’s arm moving as he stroked Natasha’s back. 

“Yasha, Steve, my broken soldiers,” Natasha said. “Shall we go back in the room and work out how to kill a lot of people?”

In the boardroom, Fury said, “My apologies, Winter Soldier, for putting you in a position where you had to show us those files.” He turned to Hill. “Get Coulson out now using protocol blue.”

Hill nodded and took out her phone, and pushed a button. “Hi Phil,” she said brightly. “This meeting is going to run over. Would you be able to drop into my apartment and give Tigg her tablet, please? Ah hah. I left her meds on the fridge, she has the blue one with her dinner. Sorry to be such a nuisance, but she’s been unwell and I worry. Thank you! You’re the best. Bye.”

Hill put her phone down on the table. “Coulson is evacuating as per protocol,” she said. 

“Thank you,” Fury said. “Who else do we need to pull from our team? And where are the rest of the Avengers?”

“From our team that we can trust, Sitwell is in DC on day shift. Sharon is on secondment to the CIA,” Hill said. “Is the CIA safe?”

“US or overseas?” Bucky asked. 

“Berlin office, with the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre,” Hill said. 

“Berlin office is acceptable,” Bucky said. “I’ve hidden in the Berlin CIA office. Sitwell is Hydra.”

Fury and Hill shared a glance, and Hill shrugged.

“Clint is at his place,” Natasha said. “I’ll give him a heads up that we are at increased risk and to come in. I don’t know where Thor is, or Bruce.”

“JARVIS, lock us up tight,” Tony said. “Get that SHIELD chopper and pilot off the premises.”

“You okay to stay with us a while?” Steve asked Bucky. “While we work out how to make this really difficult for Hydra?”

“Sure,” Bucky said. “I packed my toothbrush but not my SMGs, so if we’re going to fuck shit up I’ll need to borrow some gear.”

“How bad is this?” Steve asked Fury, who was drumming his fingers on the table. 

“Bad,” Fury said. “Hill and I need to tell you about Project Insight.”

Project Insight, it turned out, was really fucking bad. It was as though Tony had turned evil and been given an even more unlimited budget. It was the end of everything. 

“This is exactly the sort of thing I think of and discard as being fucking genocidal,” Tony said, when Fury and Hill had finished explaining. 

“We stop Insight,” Steve said. “I suggest bouncing one of the helicarriers on Pierce as part of the process.”

“Stop Insight, take down Hydra inside of SHIELD,” Fury said. “We need to move fast, before my access codes are changed.”

“SHIELD goes,” Steve said. “It can never be trusted again.”

“Okay,” Fury agreed.

Clint flew in later, arriving at the tower smelling of the outside world, and pushing a trolley of his own weaponry. He set the trolley down in the communal area, hugged Natasha, and turned to slap Steve’s back.

Bucky walked in from the boardroom, and Clint froze for a moment. “You!” Clint said, as he dragged the neck of his scruffy Metallica T-shirt down and pointed at a messy scar on his shoulder.

“Arrow Boy,” Bucky said, lifting his own T-shirt and pointing at the small round scars on his belly.

“Budapest, hey,” Clint said. “Never again. Good to have you shooting in the same direction this time.”

“Definitely,” Bucky said. “Just imagine the mess we can make with the two of us.”

Clint’s face lit up. “Yeah!” 

Tony walked into the main armory, where Steve and Bucky were sorting and allocating weaponry. 

“Hey, one of my subsidiary companies is working on accelerated PCR and gene analysis, so I rushed this,” Tony said. “Given we’re going to our certain deaths, I thought you might want to see this before we left.” He held out a touchpad to Bucky. “C’mon, Steve, we should step out.”

“Have you looked?” Bucky asked, taking the touchpad.

“No, not my results,” Tony said. 

Steve followed Tony out of the armory, and Tony closed the door. “Was it wise giving Bucky the results in the room where all the weapons are kept?” Steve asked. 

“Sure,” Tony said. “That dude has an even stronger will to survive than I have. Adverse test results aren’t gonna push him over the edge.”

The door opened, Bucky standing in the doorway, touchpad in his hand. “Bucky?” Steve asked. “You okay?”

Bucky held the touchpad out for Steve to take. “Look,” Bucky said.

The touchpad was light in Steve’s hand, the screen full of a page of scientific information Steve couldn’t read. At the top of the page _strong familial connection between sample A and sample B_ was written. 

“I have family,” Bucky said. “I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“You don’t have to work that out now,” Steve said. 

Bucky handed the touchpad back to Tony. “Thank you,” he said to Tony.

“We all need family, chosen or blood,” Tony said. “Even just as an idea.”

Bucky went back into the armory, looking contemplative. 

“I’ll get a Stark security team to his family,” Tony said quietly to Steve. “Get some discreet coverage in place.”

Steve patted Tony’s arm. “Thanks.”

“Go and put together some explosives,” Tony said. “We have three huge helicarriers to blow up.”

In the armory, Bucky touched Steve’s arm, where Steve was organizing C-4 packages in a duffel. 

Bucky looked up from stacking magazines for Steyrs into a backpack. “When this is done, if we both live…”

Bucky stopped, and when Steve looked at his face, something like hope had softened the lines around his eyes.

“We live,” Steve said. “Agreed?”

“Okay,” Bucky said. “We live.”

~ ~ ~

Tony landed his Quinjet on the roof of the DC Stark Industries offices. Coulson met them in the boardroom, briefcase in his hands.

“Is this the Winter Soldier?” Coulson asked, looking at Bucky. Bucky was prowling the Stark Industries offices they were in, bug scanner in one hand and SIG in the other, muttering into his comm.

“Yes,” Fury said. 

“Clear?” Steve asked Bucky, who turned and gave a metallic thumbs up. 

“All I can find is the in house system,” Bucky said. “Stark?”

“JARVIS, take this floor private,” Tony said.

“What’s happened?” Coulson asked. 

“Hydra has taken over SHIELD,” Fury said. 

Coulson’s face didn’t change, but he looked from Fury to Hill and back again for confirmation.

“You’re sure?” Coulson asked.

“The Winter Soldier brought intel out of Hydra when he left. We’ve cross-checked the data,” Hill said. 

“What’s the plan?” Coulson asked, lifting his briefcase onto the table. 

“Take out Project Insight,” Fury said. “Before it takes out us. We’ve got Steve, Tony and the Winter Soldier to do the heavy lifting. Natasha will run interference inside the Triskelion with me and do a data dump of SHIELD’s files. Hill is troubleshooting, and you’re transport. Clint is on the roof right now keeping watch and will provide sniper cover for the run.”

Coulson’s suitcase contained three server blades. “I stole the blades, as per Hill’s blue code. We need to place one in each of the helicarriers, before they reach 3000 feet,” Coulson said. 

Tony pulled up schematics of the helicarriers on the holoprojector. “The targeting blades go in here.”

Bucky came over the table to look at the projection. “How guarded will these areas be?” he asked.

“Not heavily,” Fury said. “Most of the defense is focused on the bridge and flightdeck. The helicarriers’ defenses presuppose the attacking force will be a STRIKE team, not augmented individuals.”

“It would be remiss of me not to point out this is treason,” Coulson said. “So, this is treason.”

“So is Hydra infiltrating SHIELD,” Hill said. “We’ll deal with the legal ramifications later.”

“I have a whole fucking legal division,” Tony said. “All sitting around drinking coffee and arguing over patents. It would be good to give them something challenging to do.”

Natasha looked up from her phone. “Clint says afternoon traffic snarls are clearing.”

“Positions,” Steve said, and Tony pulled up a map of the area about the Triskelion. “This is how we will approach this.”

At the elevator, Bucky made a tiny gesture with his head toward the stairwell and Steve gave a single nod back.

“See you in the lobby,” Steve said, turning to the stairs.

“Damned super soldiers,” Natasha said, as Bucky followed Steve.

“Don’t break my fucking stairs,” Tony called out to Steve’s back. “They’re not hardened.”

Steve ran down the first three flights of stairs, then swung around the handrail and came to a halt. Bucky skittered into his back then dragged Steve around so they faced each other.

Bucky muted his comm, then reached across and flicked Steve’s off as well.

“Thirty seconds?” Steve said.

Bucky nodded and pushed his mouth hard against Steve’s, shoving Steve back against the concrete wall of the stairwell, making Steve’s shield thud dully. They kissed hard and wet, Steve’s thigh jammed against Bucky’s crotch and the heel of Bucky’s left hand grinding against Steve’s dick. 

“Ugh,” Bucky said, pulling his mouth off Steve’s. “Time’s up. Let’s go kill lots of Hydra creeps, and then after I’ll suck your brains out through your cock.”

“Deal,” Steve said, and Bucky took off down the stairs, using the handrail to control his descent. 

Steve followed with more grace, not having a metal arm or anywhere near as much weaponry to handle.

They hurtled out of the stairwell and into the lobby, where the rest of the team, including Clint, was standing around waiting for them with varying expressions of boredom, dismay or confusion. 

“Thanks for muting the comms,” Natasha said. “The team appreciates the consideration.”

“Break anything?” Tony asked.

“What have I missed?” Clint asked Natasha, following her, Tony and Fury out of the side lobby exit to the Stark corporate garage.

“Sex and a stabbing,” Natasha said.

Clint looked back at Steve and Bucky, and nodded approvingly. “Nice,” Clint said. “We’re on fire, but at least someone’s getting fucked.”

Natasha swatted Clint’s butt. “Stop living in the wilderness and you too could have sex.”

“This is how normal people flirt,” Tony said, looking over his shoulder at Steve. “If you were wondering. You don’t have to destroy entire buildings just to let someone know you think they’re cute.”

Clint reached out and slapped Tony’s ass. “How about it, Tones.”

“Totally normal,” Tony said. “I’m going to tell Pepper you propositioned me, Clint, and you’ll be in so much trouble.” He pointed at the row of SUVs at the end of the garage. “Let’s take those. I haven’t checked them out of the car pool, so no one scratch the paintwork or get blood on the upholstery.”

“Do we need keys?” Coulson asked, circling round to the driver’s side of the first car. 

“JARVIS, sort the key thing out,” Tony said into his wristwatch. 

The lights on the four cars all flashed once and the trunks popped open.

“I’m riding with Hill and Coulson,” Fury said. “Please.”

“I thought you wanted to spend more time with the Avengers Initiative?” Coulson said. 

Fury narrowed his gaze at Coulson, who swung the briefcase into the back of the SUV and opened it.

“Tony, Steve and Winter Soldier, take a server blade each,” Coulson said. “Remember we need all three in place for this to work.”

“Clint, want to head off solo and get a vantage point,” Steve said, swinging his shield into the truck of the next car and pocketing a server blade. “Natasha, go with Hill. Tony, Winter Soldier and I will take another vehicle with most of the gear.”

Bucky hefted a duffel of equipment in beside the shield. “Let’s go,” he said impatiently, his own server blade shoved in a chest pocket of his tac suit. “Hydra to kill, things to destroy.”

“I’m driving,” Tony said, sliding behind the wheel. “One of you learned to drive in World War Two Germany, and the other in Soviet Russia.”

“We’re go,” Hill’s voice said over the comm. “Roll out, teams.”

~ ~ ~

“Pierce is in the executive suite, according to security records,” Hill said in Steve’s earpiece. 

Steve nodded to the two security guards and the flight controller in the secondary flight deck control room. 

“Captain,” one of them said. “You looking for Rumlow?”

Of course, that’s why Steve recognised the guard. He’d relieved on one of the STRIKE Team missions under Rumlow’s command.

“I was chasing Coulson,” Steve said. “His office said he was headed this way. Where’s Rumlow? I could ask him instead.”

“Rumlow is on security detail with the Secretary,” the guard said. 

“Bird is in place,” Hill said in Steve’s ear. “Ready for the Voice of Reason.”

Steve stepped sideways and looked down through the viewing glass. “Hey, is that Quinjet engine supposed to be smoking?” he asked.

The flight controller and the two guards looked forward, the flight controller reaching for her headset, and Steve shot the three of them with the tranq pistol in his offside hand. He secured the door from the inside and reached for the PA mic. “Ready,” Steve told Hill, and the system wide announcement system crackled live. 

Steve hadn’t really thought through what he was going to say. He knew he needed to say something to mobilise the SHIELD agents still loyal to Fury and himself, and to force Hydra into poorly-considered action. 

“Attention all SHIELD agents, this is Steve Rogers,” Steve said, his voice echoing over the PA. “I think it’s time you all know the truth. SHIELD is not what I or any of you thought it was. It’s been taken over by Hydra. Alexander Pierce is their leader. The STRIKE and Insight crew are Hydra as well. I don’t know how many more, but I know they’re in the building.” 

Steve could hear gunshots, muffled by the walls of the secondary flight deck. 

“They could be standing right next to you. They almost have what they want. Absolute control. If you launch those helicarriers today, Hydra will be able to kill anyone who stands in their way, unless we stop them. I know I’m asking a lot. The price of freedom is high, it always has been. It’s a price I’m willing to pay. If I’m the only one, then so be it. But I’m willing to bet I’m not.”

He took out a small charge, stuck it under the flight deck control panel and armed the charge. 

“Go,” Hill said in his comm. “Insight launch has escalated.”

Steve opened the secondary flight deck door and checked the hallway. He could hear sidearm fire in the distance. At the end of the hallway, someone called out, “You have cover, Captain, go,” and Steve ran in the opposite direction, heading for the West Spine stairwell and emergency exit, overlooking the Potomac. 

He got three floors down the stairs before someone fired on him, shots glancing off his shield.

The comm noise was low level. Natasha asking for a locked door to be opened. Tony reporting on injured SHIELD agents in the main lobby. Clint updating on the Insight helicarrier launch pads opening.

“STRIKE team, Cap,” Hill said, as Steve cleared the second floor stairs. 

“Outside?” Steve asked, pausing to peer out of the narrow window set in the stairwell. Eight STRIKE team members, including Rumlow, were waiting for Steve, weapons drawn. “Sighted. Bird, do you have cover for me?”

“No sight lines,” Clint said. “Providing cover for Rusty.”

Okay, Steve would do this the hard way. He threw the door open, and sent his shield out scything through the STRIKE team, while he swung at the nearest person with his fist and kicked out with his boot. 

Shots rang out around him, chipping at the concrete, and he kept moving fast, retrieving his shield and then using it as a blade in his hands.

Rumlow had a bead on Steve when he came out of the roll, so Steve pulled in behind the shield for cover and watched as Rumlow’s chest caved in wetly.

Someone else was providing cover. 

Steve pivoted, shield extended again, and took down another two STRIKE team members, as more shots were fired. Large caliber, close by.

When he turned to engage with the final person, they were down on the concrete with their legs shot out, and Rumlow’s face was a mess. 

As Steve straightened up, Bucky dropped down from the top of the guest parking garage, Steyrs in his hands, and walked across to Steve. Bucky looked across at Rumlow’s body, put another two rounds in it, and nodded with satisfaction behind his facemask.

“Rumlow is gone,” Steve said into the comm. “Heading for launchpad.”

He and Bucky covered for each other as they worked their way around the edge of the Triskelion building to the bank of the Potomac. Bucky shot Hydra agents with his Steyrs and Steve cleared the walkways with the shield. They ducked and wove around each other with the kind of synergy Steve remembered from the war, Steve doing the close quarters work and Bucky with an SMG in each hand. 

This was like dancing (except Steve had never been any good at dancing), or fucking, their bodies made for each other, utterly ruthless and precise. They should never have been on opposing sides of anything: hearts, missions, wars, rooms, time. 

The helicarrier launchpads were open and active, water rushing in and people shouting, when Steve and Bucky cleared the vehicles near the river. 

Bucky leaned back against the truck they had just stopped from moving and glanced at Steve, his eyes wide and bright. He nodded approvingly at Steve and Steve smiled back. 

Overhead, Tony swooped past, drawing fire from the chopper following him. Bucky holstered one of his Steyrs and sighted carefully with the other, then emptied the clip into the chopper.

The chopper wobbled and stuttered, then began to spin and descend. 

Bucky changed magazines on his Steyr and said apologetically, “Max range,” to Steve. “Should’ve brought a rifle.”

They ran, using the mess caused by the chopper crashing as a distraction. Bucky jumped down onto the rising deck of the first helicarrier and Steve ran on, heading for the second launch pad and carrier.

Steve jumped down onto the slick wet deck and ducked behind a Quinjet to stay out of sight. The deck crew were scrambling to get the carrier ready, preparing Quinjets and choppers. Steve knocked out an agent pushing a cart of equipment on to the deck and stole her ID card. 

He needed to head down, into the computer facilities below the ELINT center. His comm was mostly quiet, with the last check in being from Natasha, calling for Fury to join her in the corporate suite. 

A guard called for back-up before Steve could knock him out at the door to the stairs off the flight deck. Steve took his Glock and his swipe card, and ran for the stair well as the helicarrier lifted. The swipe card worked.

“Ascending,” Hill’s voice said. Coulson called out something in the background and shots were fired, so Hill and Coulson had issues of their own.

Steve ran down the stairs, not trying to be quiet. He just needed to beat the security response team to the server cluster…

Shots rang out from above Steve, ricocheting around the stairwell. Steve risked looking up, using his shield as cover, and fired back at the security team. Two hits, at least, which meant two fewer people to kill him later. 

The stolen Glock had a standard 17 round magazine, and when the bullets were gone, Steve tossed the gun aside and bolted down the stairs again. The server suite was clearly labelled. He kicked out the door to the server cluster and found himself facing Rollins and a STRIKE team. 

In front of Steve was a walkway to the servers. Rollins stood on the walkway, hefting a Colt M4A1.

In Steve’s earpiece, Hill said, “1000 feet.”

Steve threw his shield at Rollin’s right shoulder where he was cradling the M4A1, knocking the carbine out of his hands and making him shout. 

Steve threw himself off the walkway, grabbed his shield where it had lodged in metal plating and holstered it. Steve pulled himself along under the walkway to the server cluster, arm over arm.

“Get him,” Rollins shouted at the STRIKE team over Steve’s head, and shots ricocheted off the walkway smacking into Steve’s kevlar armor. 

Steve swung off the walkway and down, landing on the level below the server cluster. He scrambled around the coving in search of cover. One of the shots hit him in his thigh, ripping through the muscle.

In his comm, Tony announced successful placement of his server blade. 

“Bird,” Steve said into his comm. “Do you have sight on me?”

“Negative,” Clint said. “On the move to assist.”

Steve needed to get higher, back to the server level, preferably without being shot again. He climbed up the back of the server tower, hands and feet on the rigging, shield over one arm to provide cover on that side. If he could get the servers between him and the STRIKE team, then they’d be reluctant to take anything except a clear shot. 

Someone shot him in the shoulder, from across the structure. Fuck. The STRIKE team had back-up.

Natasha’s voice said, “Upload complete. This is for you, Yasha,” and shots rang out over the comm.

“Who’d you kill for me?” Bucky asked over the comm.

“Pierce,” Natasha said. 

“2000 feet,” Hill said.

Some of the STRIKE team were going down with wet red patches blooming across their chests as Steve scrambled up the server tower, so Clint must have got a sightline.

Steve had reached the back of the server structure, teeth gritted from the pain in his thigh and shoulder. He hauled himself over the railing, where Rollins was waiting for him. 

Tactical error, letting Steve get within arm’s reach. 

Steve grabbed Rollin’s hands where they were holding his carbine and crushed hard, fracturing bones and breaking the weapon. Rollins screamed and fell to the deck. Steve slung his shield into its harness and reached for the server blade in its pouch at his waist.

“Blade in place,” Bucky said over the comms. “Pickup?”

“On it,” Tony said.

Steve punched the next closest STRIKE team member and held him up to use as a shield.

“Stay still,” he told the person, tightening his grip on their tac suit with one hand and taking out the server blade he had to replace with the other.

“3000 feet,” Hill said. “Targeting system online.”

Someone shot Steve in the gut. Hydra didn’t quite grasp how human shields worked, obviously.

Steve pushed the replacement blade into the slot.

“Blade in place,” Steve said. “Pick up.”

The first volley from one of the other helicarriers hit hard, causing explosions and the vehicle to list starboard. Steve was knocked off the walkway and fell sideways amidst a tangle of beams and steel, pain bursting bright and intense through his shoulder and hip.

“Get out,” Hill said over the comms. “Get out, Steve.”

Further away, things were exploding, filling the air with smoke and the stench of burning fuel. The helicarrier was continuing its sideways slide as more blasts hit it, breaking away parts of the structure. 

“Steve!” Bucky shouted over the comms. “Where are you?”

The bullet wounds were slowing Steve down, making it harder for him to scramble through the helicarrier structure as it fell around him. He needed to get out and into the air, so Tony could pick him up.

Plexiglass? Steve pulled his shield off and smashed it against the plexiglass sheet, blowing out the panel. Below him, the Potomac was getting closer and closer. Across the river, a helicarrier was plowing into the Triskelion, sending flames and smoke towering up into the sky. 

“Jumping river,” Steve shouted, over the roar of steel being ripped apart, and he threw himself out of the helicarrier as hard as he could, aiming for clear waters.

“Bird, do you have eyes?” Steve heard Bucky say over the comms as he fell, the murky waters rising up to meet him. His shield was gone, he had nothing to break his impact with.

~ ~ ~ 

Steve coughed, then retched, emptying his throat and lungs. His vision was blurry and something stank. 

Someone was kneeling beside him, hands on his shoulder, making sure he stayed on his side . 

“Medevac,” the person was saying. “Send Tony or something.”

Steve retched again.

“That’s right, Steve,” the voice said. “Get your airways clear.”

A face appeared in Steve’s line of sight. Wet. Covered in soot and streaked with blood.

“Bucky?” Steve tried to say, except gross stuff came out of his mouth instead.

“Hang in there, Steve,” Bucky said. “I’m trying to get you to hospital, but EMS and Rescue are slammed with civilian casualties. I’ll carry you myself, if I have to.”

“Can walk,” Steve said.

“No you fucking can’t,” Bucky said. “I can see four gunshot wounds, and I’ve just done CPR on you. You’re not walking.”

“Is that the closest you can get?” Bucky said, and Steve could tell he was talking to someone else on comms. “Okay, we’ll see you there.”

Bucky stood up and Steve tried to look up at him.

“Up you come,” Bucky said, bending down and hauling Steve to his feet. 

Everything went gray and weird inside Steve’s head, then Bucky picked Steve up and said, “Hang on if you can, because you’re no lightweight.”

Bucky carried Steve along the riverbank, then up a path, past where people were standing and taking photos with their phones.

“That’s Captain America,” Steve heard one person whisper, as they passed.

Bucky carried Steve across a park to a road, sometimes murmuring into his comms unit, always resolutely ignoring people nearby, even if they tried to help.

On the road, a black SUV was waiting, doors open. Coulson and Clint appeared in Steve’s field of vision, and Steve was eased down in the back of the SUV, where the seats had been folded flat.

Bucky climbed in beside him and took the clean dry Glock Clint handed him from across the SUV, while Coulson slammed doors and got in the driver’s seat.

Things faded for Steve, while the car moved and a siren rose and fell, then Bucky said, “Fuck,” and rolled Steve on to his side again.

“Ow,” Steve complained, because he hurt in all sorts of places.

“Don’t blame me,” Bucky said. “I didn’t inhale all of the Potomac, you did.”

“Four minutes,” Coulson said. “Full first aid kit on your right hand side, if you need an airway.”

“Hang on for four minutes,” Clint told Steve. “Because I don’t know how to put an airway in.”

“I do,” Bucky said. “What is it with your team and inadequate first aid training? Tony can’t suture. You can’t maintain an airway.”

“Hey,” Clint said. “In my defense, this is the first time ever it’s been someone other than me getting pulped.”

Bucky’s hand was steady on Steve’s neck, checking for life signs, fingers drawing tiny circles on Steve’s muddy skin. 

“Two minutes,” Coulson said. “Clint? Could you remove anything from the Cap that is Eyes Only?”

“He’s lost most of his secret stuff,” Clint said, patting Steve down and removing his Stark smartwatch. “Comm and shield are gone. Tags on or off?”

“On,” Coulson said. “Not like we can pretend he’s someone else.”

“Too famous for your own good,” Bucky told Steve, pushing Steve’s hair off his face. 

“Hey, Tones,” Clint said, into his comm. “Our Boy left an incredibly valuable artefact made of vibranium in the river. Want to get it out before someone else does?”

Clint leaned forward to talk to Steve. “Tony is very cranky you lost the shield. He says someone else will have to go get it because he just punched the Secretary of Defense.”

“At the hospital,” Coulson announced. “Triage team are waiting for us. The shield can wait for me to scramble a navy diving team tomorrow.”

~ ~ ~

Steve woke up slowly. Things were too bright and too loud, and just plain hurt.

He knew this. This was what recovering from trauma surgery felt like. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice croakey.

“Here you go,” Natasha said, guiding a straw into Steve’s mouth. “Welcome back. You’ve been out for a while.”

Post-surgery iced water was still the sweetest thing in the world.

Apart from Natasha, Steve could see Clint standing guard in the corner, bow in his hand. Coulson was dozing in one of the plastic hospital chairs. Steve’s muddy shield was propped against the wall beside Clint, wrapped in a plastic bag.

“Where’s Bucky?” Steve asked, between sips of water. “Where’s everyone?”

“We just sent Yasha off to shower and find clothes, because river mud smells gross,” Natasha said. “Hill is coordinating recovery for SHIELD agents who were not also Hydra agents. Tony is on Capitol Hill kicking serious ass. He is pissed. Clint and I are guarding you and watching Coulson sleep.”

“Any moment now, your boyfriend is going to burst back in here,” Clint said. “Probably better armed than when he left. And he’ll threaten anyone trying to provide medical care to you. Again. It’s been freaking hilarious. He does a whole level of hostile that not even Nat achieves. I’m in awe.”

“Fury?” Steve asked quietly.

Nat patted his shoulder. “Gone to ground. He’s safe.”

Coulson stirred in his sleep, muttering. 

“Please let him be revealing high level codes,” Clint said. 

“Go away, Clint,” Coulson said distinctly. 

“Coulson is annoyed because he only got to kill Sitwell,” Natasha said. “And he wanted one of the big name targets.”

“Not as annoyed as Steve’s boyfriend,” Clint said. “He had to make do with killing Rumlow and then punching every Hydra agent in existence with his metal fist.”

“Assassins,” Natasha said disparagingly, as if she wasn’t one as well.

The door opened and Bucky walked in, wearing theater scrubs and clogs, wet hair tied back. His face was mottled with bruising and he was limping, but he looked intact and clean. Through the open door, Steve could see a couple of familiar SHIELD agents in the hall, holding M4A1s.

“Hey, you’re awake,” Bucky said, coming over and patting Steve’s hand. He pulled a pistol out of the waistband of his scrubs. “Got you a Glock. Hide it under the bedding. Please don’t stupidly go unarmed into a firefight again, okay?” He leaned over and kissed Steve’s forehead.

Steve went to protest, but something about the set of Bucky’s face made him stop. He took the Glock, checked the safety, and slid it beside his hip. “Okay, Bucky,” he said.

“I approve,” Natasha said. 

Steve wasn’t sure whether she was approving of the Glock or Bucky telling Steve not to be stupid, but either way, Natasha’s approval was not easy to gain.

When Steve looked at Coulson, Coulson was studying Bucky and Steve intently, his eyes moving from Bucky’s face to where Bucky’s fingers were still touching Steve’s hand. 

Coulson pulled himself up from the chair and to his feet. Steve could see for the first time his wrist was bandaged and he’d lost his shoes somewhere. Disney socks? Disney socks. 

At Steve’s bedside, Coulson said, “I owe you an apology for intruding into your personal life. You were entirely justified in telling me to butt out.”

Coulson turned to Bucky. “Sergeant. Apologies for how long it has taken me to recognise you. I can only blame the confusion of the day and the layer of mud you were wearing before. Later, perhaps, would you consider signing some trading cards for me?”

“Huh?” Bucky said. “I can sign stuff, but I expected it to be NDAs. Why trading cards?”

“You have trading cards,” Steve said. “And a very vintage comic.”

“I have the comics too, if you’d like to see them?” Coulson said helpfully.

Bucky’s expression was deeply confused. “How am I supposed to go undercover if there are fucking trading cards with my fucking face on them?”

“Don’t think that was considered when the trading cards were made, since we were both dead,” Steve said. “Too late to do anything about it now.”

“If not even Steve recognised you at first, I doubt anyone else will connect your face with ancient trading cards,” Natasha said. 

“It was dark and I wasn’t looking at Bucky’s face,” Steve said. “Sorry.”

“Also, why am I still a sergeant?” Bucky asked. “I was an officer in the Sovetskaya Armiya.”

“Take that up with the army,” Coulson said. “At the same time as you ask for seventy years of back pay for the time you were a POW. They’re going to be thrilled.” Coulson sounded gleeful. “Think of the paperwork.”

“Be so much easier to steal the money from the army,” Bucky said. “Cut the bullshit out.”

Clint chortled delightedly. “I want in on that mission.”

“Do we have a plan?” Steve asked, because no one should be trapped in a hospital room with Coulson, Natasha, Clint and Bucky without an escape plan.

“Yes,” Coulson said. “As soon as you’ve recovered enough to move, some of the team are relocating to Stark Tower. They’ll start working through the SHIELD and Hydra intel Natasha released to the world. There are better defenses against the inevitable retaliation there. Tony is doing some kind of super lobbyist thing at the moment, getting SHIELD shut down completely. Hill and I will stay here and support the SHIELD agents who weren’t Hydra, get them into other jobs.”

Clint shifted his bow in his hand, moving his focus to the window. “Tony had some kind of complicated message for you, Steve. Something about normal suites, mega first aid kits, Hulk furniture and trusting Pepper. Then he started shouting at someone who might have been the President and disconnected, so who knows?”

“I think that makes sense,” Steve said, then he turned to Coulson. “What will you do after?” 

“I’m confident another agency will hire me,” Coulson said, going to sit back down. There was an unspoken ‘or else’ in his statement.

Bucky squeezed Steve’s hand. “I’m coming with you,” Bucky said. “I had to dive off an exploding helicarrier into a river covered in burning avgas to rescue you while Clint shouted directions at me. I dragged you out of the water, then resussed you. You need someone to stop you from doing something reckless. You need adult supervision.”

Natasha made a scoffing noise. “The idea that the Winter Soldier is going to provide responsible supervision of Captain America is ridiculous.”

“Did I not supervise you, little one?” Bucky said, turning to Natasha. “Did I not teach you to keep your knives sharp?”

Clint’s eyes were shining with delight, in the corner of the room, and Coulson looked enthralled.

“You did, Yasha, you did. And here we both are, killing for the American capitalists,” Natasha said. “Where did we go wrong?”

“It was not us that changed,” Bucky said. “The world moved around us.”

Natasha smiled delightedly, and Clint said, “Glad you’re hanging around, dude.”

Steve let his fingers wrap around Bucky’s, where they rested on the bed, and closed his eyes. 

~ ~ ~

The nurse said, “It’s a good day,” and held the door to the hallway open for Steve and Bucky.

“Has she had other visitors today?” Steve asked, nodding to a janitor.

“Her niece has been in,” the nurse said. “Much earlier, so she’s had a sleep since.”

Beside Steve, Bucky was looking out of the hall windows at the sloping lawn and damp gardens.

“Here,” the nurse said, opening the door. “More visitors for you, Mrs Carter,” she called out.

Steve walked in and across to where Peggy was sitting in a wing chair beside the french doors to the verandah. 

“Peggy,” he said, holding out his hands.

“Steve!” Peggy said, her face lighting up. “So good to see you!”

“I’ve brought someone to visit you,” Steve said, turning to look at Bucky, who was standing just inside the room holding a bunch of roses. Bucky put them down on the table in front of her. “Someone special,” Steve added.

“Ooh,” Peggy said. “Are you dating? How exciting. Come here, young man.”

Bucky stepped closer and Peggy let go of Steve’s hands to hold one out to Bucky. 

Bucky took off his cap and tucked it under his left arm, then took her right hand in his. “Ma’am,” he said.

Peggy’s face crumpled for a moment. She turned to Steve, who nodded, then she looked back at Bucky.

“Bucky?” Peggy asked. “Have you come back too? Are both of my boys home now?”

Bucky knelt down beside Peggy’s chair, without letting go of her hand. “You remember me?” 

Peggy was leaking tears. “Dearest James. Of course I remember you. You and Steve were everything to me.” She touched his face with her other hand. “Darling, you’ve had a bad time of it, haven’t you?”

“The war lasted a long time for me,” Bucky said. “I’m happy to be home now.”

They sat, Bucky and Steve holding one of Peggy’s hands each, and Peggy beamed.

“Did you know?” Peggy asked Bucky. “Did you know that Steve is a scoundrel?”

“I’m aware of this in general,” Bucky said. “What did he do in particular?”

“He stole stockings for me,” Peggy said. “He volunteered to assist with a mission to intercept a black market shipment, and went along with the military police. Why? Just so he could steal stockings from the blackmarketeers.”

“Sounds like abuse of power to me,” Bucky said. “Did you report him?”

“No!” Peggy said. “They were good stockings. Do I still have any, Steve?”

“I think you’ve got ladders in all of them, Peggy,” Steve said. “Would you like me to steal you some more? And in fairness, I stole cigarettes and brandy for Bucky too.”

“Did you really steal cigarettes and brandy for me?” Bucky asked, looking at Steve.

“You heard the lady. I’m a scoundrel,” Steve said. 

Peggy was looking at Bucky, her face soft. “Oh, Bucky, lovely boy. I’m so glad you came home.”

“I’m glad you remember me,” Bucky said. 

“Forget you?” Peggy said. “After what you boys did to me the night of the air raid? I couldn’t go to work the next day, had to pretend to be sick. I swear my dying thought is going to be about that night.”

“Good times.” Steve patted Peggy’s hand. A smug smile drifted across her face and she settled back deeper into the chair, her eyes unfocused. “You’re looking tired Peggy, we should go, let you rest.”

“Did you bring me a treat?” Peggy asked, blinking and looking at Steve. “I rely on you, Steve. My family are so very nice and proper.”

“Your family are all spies and agents,” Steve said. “And not nice at all. But yes, I brought you a treat.”

He pulled a couple of small items out of his pocket and handed them over to Peggy. One was a new lipstick, Besame’s Red Velvet, Peggy’s favorite. The other was a nip bottle of Remy Martin brandy, small enough for Peggy to tuck under her pillow or hide in her purse. 

“Still bringing me contraband,” Peggy said. “Still Steve.”

Steve leaned forward and kissed Peggy, letting it linger, and she sighed happily as he stood up.

Bucky kissed her cheek and stood up too.

“Steve, I want photos of you and Bucky,” Peggy said. “The good sort.”

“Now who’s the scoundrel?” Steve said. “Shall I send the nurse in?”

“Am I in hospital?” Peggy asked. “Was there an air raid?”

“Nothing bad has happened, you’re here for a rest. We’ll see you soon. Bye, dearest girl,” Steve said, opening the door and letting Bucky walk out ahead of him.

After Steve let the nurse know Peggy needed attention, Bucky said, “Wow. If she’s like this in her nineties, she must have been something in her twenties.”

“She was,” Steve said, walking back to the reception area of the care facility to sign out.

In the Stark Industries SUV, Bucky asked, “What did we do to her on the night of the air raid? Why has she hung onto that memory in particular?”

Steve raised an eyebrow at Bucky and started the car. “What do you think we did to her?”

“That sweet old lady?” Bucky said. “We didn’t!”

Steve reversed out of the bay then drove down the access road.

“That sweet old lady was a spy and an agent. She has a kill count that’s possibly higher than yours.” Steve pulled onto the highway, heading back to New York. 

“There really are people in nursing homes reminiscing about how when they were young, Captain America fucked them senseless,” Bucky said. “Life goal achieved, Steve.”

“Live long enough, and one of them could be you,” Steve said. 

Bucky laughed. “I’ve lost the memories from when I was young. You’re gonna have to give me a whole new set as insurance against my old age.”

“Plan on doing just that,” Steve said. “Gonna make sure you don’t forget this time.”

~ ~ ~

Cindy opened the door of the Taylor house before Steve even had a chance to knock.

“Steve!” she said, pulling Steve into a hug. “Come in. The kids are at school, so we can talk as you asked.”

Steve followed Cindy into her kitchen and sat down at the counter. “Good.”

Cindy fiddled nervously getting out coffee cups. “Are you okay?” Cindy asked. “Were you in DC?” The helicarriers had come down only six days prior.

“I was in DC,” Steve said. “That’s why it’s taken me a few days to contact you back.”

“You were hurt?” Cindy said, and Steve nodded, looking down at his hands. He still hadn’t got all of the Potomac out from under his nails.

“The DNA’s a match,” Cindy said. “That’s why you needed to see me alone. We have to talk about a memorial service?”

“It’s complex,” Steve said. “The DNA was a match, but to a living donor.”

Cindy turned back from where she was filling the coffee machine “Living donor? Bucky left a family? A child?”

“Bucky is still alive,” Steve said.

“Oh, Steve,” Cindy said, reaching across the counter to take Steve’s hands. “Have you seen him? How is he? He must be old.”

“He found me,” Steve said. “Came looking for answers to his past. He can barely remember anything, Cindy. Just tiny fragments.”

“Is it dementia?” Cindy asked. 

“No. He’s had a hard life, Cindy. Worse than anything I’ve been through. All his memories were taken from him.”

“Do you have a photo?” Cindy asked. “Can I see him?”

Steve took out his phone, unlocked it, and found a photo of Bucky he’d taken that morning in Stark’s jet on the way to Chicago. 

“Oh,” Cindy said. “He doesn’t look the same, does he?” She put the phone down on the counter.

Steve shook his head. “I didn’t recognise him immediately. It’s embarrassing.”

“What does Bucky want?” Cindy asked. “From us, from the family? What can we do to help him?”

“He’d like to meet you,” Steve said. “I’m not sure he’s ready for the full Taylor experience.”

“No one is ready for all of the Taylors,” Cindy said. “I’d like to meet him too.”

Steve tapped on his phone, sending Bucky a message, and said, “Get out a third coffee mug. Bucky will be here soon.”

The front door opened and Bucky called out, “Hello?” before Cindy had set the third mug down on the counter. 

“Bucky?!” Cindy called out, rushing to meet him. Steve kept his back turned and focused on the yard visible through the kitchen windows, until Cindy and Bucky walked into the kitchen. They didn’t need him intruding on a family reunion.

Bucky stood with one hand on Steve’s shoulder and looked around the kitchen and dining area.

“There are photos on the walls in the living area, Bucky,” Cindy said. “If you want to look. I’ll bring coffee in.” She looked like she needed a moment to pull herself together.

“C’mon,” Steve said. “These are family photos, not museum images. You can laugh at me being fifteen years old and terrible.”

Bucky followed Steve into the living area. “You were a terrible adolescent? Now that’s a surprise.”

Much of the wall is taken up with photos of Cindy and Dave’s wedding and the kids, but one corner was the Proctor-Barnes’ family history project, with a side serve of Rogers. 

“See?” Steve said, pointing at a photo of himself taken in 1933, clothes and ears too big for him, his arm around his mom. 

Bucky leaned closer to the photo. “That’s your mom, right? Hey, your nose wasn’t always as broken as it is now.”

“That’s my mom, yes. My nose had only been broken twice by then. My late adolescent habit of brawling was not kind to my face. This is you and Becca,” Steve said, pointing to a faded photo taken on the steps outside the Barnes’ apartment block. 

“You remember this?” Bucky asked, studying the photo. 

“Not that day exactly,” Steve said. “But I remember hanging out on those steps, watching you smoking and chatting to dames. I remember Becca trying to stand on the railing, then falling and tearing her skirt. I remember a lot.”

Bucky’s face was wistful, when he glanced at Steve.

“This is your mom when she was old,” Steve said, pointing at a photo of Winnifred with silver hair and lined face. “Cindy? Had you been born when this photo was taken?”

Cindy carried three mugs of coffee over and put them down on a side table. “That photo of Gramma? Yes, I would have been two or three.”

“Did you know her?” Bucky asked Cindy, and Cindy nodded.

“Sit down,” Cindy said. “I can tell you about Gramma, and about Nanna Becca.”

Steve took his coffee and went out to sit on the front porch. He didn’t know if Cindy’s photos and stories would spark any memories for Bucky, but even without the memories, they could be a connection for the present.

Bucky was silent on the car drive back to Chicago, his face turned away from Steve to look out the side window. Steve didn’t try and talk. 

Sometimes the past was very close, and sometimes it was long ago. Steve felt every moment of the seventy years during that drive. 

~ ~ ~

Steve knocked on the super’s door at the block of restored and renovated apartments on Congress street. 

“Good afternoon, sir,” Steve said, pulling out his best Captain America charm. 

The super blinked and smiled back. “Good afternoon, um, Captain.”

“Would it be possible for my team to access the fire escape at the rear of the building?” Steve asked. “There’s no disturbance, but we’d like to conduct discreet surveillance of premises two blocks away.”

Steve smiled earnestly. 

“Of course, definitely,” the super said. “I’ll unlock the access for you.”

“We’ll probably only need a couple of hours,” Steve said. 

“As long as you need. Happy to help, Captain.”

“Thank you,” Steve said.

The super caught Steve’s arm, as Steve turned to go back to the fake Verizon van where Bucky was waiting. “My nephew was Midtown when the Chitauri came. Anything I can do for you, anything.”

Steve nodded. 

In the van, Bucky said, “Is this really the same building?”

“Sure is,” Steve said. “Nellie McPherson was in my grade at school and lived on the second floor. Nellie would let us out onto the fire escape from their kitchen. Mrs McPherson was a sweetie, used to give us peanut butter and mayo sandwiches after school when we were kids.”

Bucky looked dubiously at Steve as he climbed out of the van and pulled up the hood of his windbreaker. “I can’t tell if you’re actually recounting childhood anecdotes or bullshitting me.”

“Not bullshitting,” Steve said, pulling a backpack out of the van and sliding the rear door closed. “Let’s go pretend to do some surveillance.”

“You’re such a shit,” Bucky said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I can’t believe people look up to you as a role model. They’ve clearly never met you.”

The super of the building held open a side access door out of the lobby and pointed at the foot of the fire escape ladder. 

Steve slid the backpack on his shoulders and pulled himself up, on to the bottom of the fire escape. Bucky jumped and grabbed, and pulled himself up behind Steve. They climbed the fire escape silently, but Steve couldn’t help pointing gleefully at the window that had previously been Mrs McPherson’s kitchen. Bucky gave him a shove in the back, and they climbed the remaining five floors, clambering over collections of house plants carefully.

On the top landing, Steve sat down and patted the landing beside himself for Bucky to sit too.

Bucky sat down and looked out. The building backed onto another block of apartments, converted from the tenements of Steve’s memory. Beyond, Court street was a stretch of busy restaurants and bars in the late afternoon. 

Summer was going, the evening cool and overcast, damp air blowing up the East river. 

Steve opened his backpack, took out two beers, and handed one to Bucky. 

“Is this really it?” Bucky asked, twisting the top off his beer.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Reckon the fire escape has had an upgrade in the past 70 years, so it’s not the same metal, but this is exactly where we sat.”

Bucky leaned his head back against the worn bricks and closed his eyes. With his hair hidden by his windbreaker hood and the late afternoon sunshine softening his face, he looked like the Bucky in Steve’s memory. 

The beer was cold and pleasant when Steve drank from his bottle, and that summer evening in his memory suddenly seemed close enough to touch.

Brooklyn hummed around them, traffic and people a constant thrum. The late afternoon sun caught the edges of the clouds, making them shine.

Steve set his beer down and let the afternoon settle into his bones. 

“I spent some time in Romania when I was working out how to live,” Bucky said. “I speak Romanian and it was enough like Russia that it felt like somewhere I might belong.”

“I’ve been to Romania,” Steve said. “Bucharest was beautiful.”

“Cold winters,” Bucky said. “It felt right. Eventually had to move on when Hydra found me. While I was there, I went looking for this.” Bucky waved his hand at the fire escape and the buildings around them. “Tried sketching everything I could from memory and matching it with a place. I even went to Omsk, climbed around housing developments, looking for bricks this color.” Bucky touched a hand to the exposed bricks they were leaning against. 

“Omsk?” Steve asked. “Because?”

“Big enough city with hot summers, might have been a place I could have come from,” Bucky said. “If you were wondering, it doesn’t look like Brooklyn. After Omsk I stopped trying to get back to this memory, figured it was gone forever.”

Steve took Bucky’s hand and his cool metal fingers curled around Steve’s.

“And now I’m back at the exact same place,” Bucky said. “With the same person. This is more than I thought I would ever have.”

“Yeah, same for me,” Steve said. “To find myself here with a new you and a new me…”

Steve stopped and looked down at their hands. 

“Can we try?” Steve said. “To make this a new thing? To be close?”

“You want to settle down? Suburbia and a normal life?” Bucky asked, and he sounded surprised. Startled.

“Maybe not settle down,” Steve said. “Could we agree to be good to each other, perhaps?”

“Okay,” Bucky said. “Okay, yeah. Let’s spend time together, fuck a lot, and make sure there’re no sharp objects nearby.”

“Yeah, that.” Steve still hurt from the last round of injuries, from the helicarrier takedown. He did not need anything more to go wrong. “No missions against each other?” Steve asked.

“Agreed. Conflict of interest,” Bucky said. “I’m not killing you.”

Bucky moved closer on the metal grid of the fire escape. Steve let go of Bucky’s hand and draped an arm around Bucky’s shoulder instead.

Steve felt saturated, like if he breathed in another feeling, everything would spill over and fall through the grid of the fire escape. Everything was so fragile, winding and then unraveling, and back again, into new patterns. 

All those years ago on the fire escape, he’d been so sure, so confident. He’d known he and Bucky would be together forever. Now, nothing was certain, but he had hope for the first time since coming out of the ice. 

Hope was something precious.

Bucky was quiet beside him, apart from the faint whir of servo motors when Bucky took a pull of his beer.

“Hey,” Bucky said, a couple of minutes later, making Steve open his half-closed eyes. “I found your Grindr profile. I would do you so hard, if you were wondering. That is a smoking photo of you.”

“Good. I’ll tell Tony you approve of the photo he took,” Steve said. “Did you send me a dick pic?”

“What do you think?” Bucky asked. “Of course I did. Did you and the old Bucky fuck around?” 

“We did. Bucky always had a girl as well and I would hang out at the docks, sometimes make a little extra money,” Steve said. “Then later, there was Peggy Carter for both of us.”

‘We could do the same,” Bucky said. “And maybe I’ll try women.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Sounds good, though maybe I won’t actually solicit at the docks. There’s a guy, Digby, I’ve fucked a few times, got a thing for muscles. He’s no Peggy Carter, but he’s fun.”

“Oh yeah? He up for Captain America and me?”

“I don’t think he knows my job,” Steve said. “But I reckon if I called him and asked if he was interested in a threesome with me and a scruffy, ripped guy, he’d be in.”

Bucky was grinning and he looked like a weight had been lifted from him. “This is good,” Bucky said. “I was worried you were going to pull some kind of intense emotional thing today, but instead you’re arranging with me to tag team some guy you’ve been fucking. I can do this.”

Bucky turned to look at Steve, a smile still twitching at his mouth, and Steve leaned across to kiss him. Bucky tasted of beer and happiness.

“It’s working for me too,” said Steve, as Bucky settled against Steve’s shoulder.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Description of the Winter Soldier being wiped and tortured, based closely on the sequence in "Captain America: The Winter Soldier." Includes electrocution and physical abuse.


End file.
